


Never Been Kissed

by MorganeUK



Series: Rom-com adaptations... [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Army Doctor John Watson, Case Fic, Detective Sherlock Holmes, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Greg Lestrade and Mycroft Holmes friendship, John is doubting his sanity!, M/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Never Been Kissed, Teacher John Watson, romcom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2019-10-13 17:21:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 36,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17492099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganeUK/pseuds/MorganeUK
Summary: At 28, Sherlock is undercover in a college where ex-Captain John Watson is a biology teacher.A romcom + case alternative first-meeting fic based on the movie Never Been Kissed!** Each story in that series is independent and not-related at all **





	1. I’m sad to say that we need his help

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-read by Notjustmom! Many thanks to you my darling :-)

Greg is looking at his team members, unhappy with the dismissive look they are giving him. Then, no one was looking in his direction, all suddenly distracted by their electronic devices.  “I need someone!” Playing impatiently with his pen, he waits. And waits. “We need someone on site! It’s not the fucking mafia, it’s only a bloody college! If nobody volunteer to do it... I will FORCE someone. I will, don’t make any mistake –”

Exchanging one last glance with her colleagues, Donovan says, “Sir?”

“Donovan! Great, thank you, you are not as –”

“No, no...” she clears her voice, not believing what she was about to say, “we can’t do it, I’m sorry but we need the –” she knows how her boss didn’t like it when they call him The Freak. “We need Holmes.”

“Sherlock?” Lestrade’s eyes survey the room slowly, perusing the men and women around the table. Objectively, they are all looking a bit too old, a bit too stiff, a bit too ‘copper’. And most of them wouldn’t be able to follow a College science class without making a fool of themselves. It’s not that they were idiots, it just that chemistry isn’t that useful in their line of work.  _ Except maybe for Anderson, but we certainly don’t talk about Anderson! And anyway, he’s not a cop.  _ “Really? Sherlock?”

“Who else, Sir?” Donovan replies, clearly not happy about the only option they have, “Christine in Vice is young enough, but she’s a bit... you know. And Michael would have been perfect but he’s out on paternity leave.”

“Okay, I’m going to check with the boss, but I’m not happy about this...”  _ and I have the feeling that his brother going to be less than please, shit. _

 

 

_ 2 hours later _

“So, if I understand well, you want  _ me _ to do undercover work for  _ you, _ as an official special member of your team?” he stops talking, a smug smile on his face. That is really a first as he’s not even an official consultant and wasn’t paid at all by the Met. “Is this because, I don’t want to get this wrong you know, it is because your detectives  _ are _ incompetents?” The joy in having an opportunity to shame Scotland Yard is evident in Sherlock’s oversweet tone.

_ Of course, the git is going to rub in it! _ “No, it’s because none of them has the right profile and nobody is –”

“Intelligent, brilliant, able to follow a college course without looking like overgrown brainless teenagers?”

“Nobody still looks like a bloody brooding schoolboy!” Exasperated, Greg drinks the last drop of his cold coffee.  _ God, I need a break!  _ “Come on, isn’t what you wanted all along? To be taken seriously? Being paid as a real consultant? Don’t make me beg Sherlock, but we really need you!”

Removing his coat, the detective finally sits in front of the DI’s desk. “Okay, explain everything...”

“As you know, a new drug appeared on the street a few months ago named B/O. At first, it was only a few doses, a few vendors, but the rhythm is going faster and faster since the beginning of the month.”

Before Greg is able to add more, Sherlock interrupts him impatiently, “I know, give me something new!”

“Last week, we caught a vendor in Shoreditch, two days ago it was in –”

“Camden! I know! What’s NEW?”

“That one talked!” The DI replies, happy to finally have something that Sherlock wasn’t aware of. They’ve been discreet about this affair, not wanting the gangs or the lab behind the drug to be aware that they have found something. “His contact said that the drug comes from King’s College and –” The young detective, suddenly agitated, isn’t listening anymore. _Of course, from the two dozen universities in London, it’s going to be at King’s._ Pushing away a flashback of his years in another posh university, Oxford, he refocuses on Greg’s words. “The leader is in Life Science and Medicine but he’s probably got the help from someone in the Chemistry department.” 

He pauses, looking at Sherlock seriously, not liking the way he seems lost to the world around him. Talking softly, in an almost fatherly tone, he asks, “Are you up for it, Sunshine?” The nickname he gave him when he met him years ago, a bright young junkie who was in dire need of a purpose in life, escapes his lips before he was able to stop it. “Sorry, Sherlock, I know that you always found it childish.” He smiles, thinking how insulted the genius had been when he first called him ‘Sunshine’. Sherlock was in the drunk tank, waiting for someone to pick him up, and Lestrade used the nickname just to get a reaction from the dark sulking kid.  _ It certainly worked, _ the man silently chuckles.  

“I’ll do it.”He rises and shrugs into his Belstaff before heading for the door.

“SHERLOCK! We need to talk about details, about aliases and everything!”

Already out of the DI’s office, the detective barely slows down as he shouts, “send me the details by email.”

 

 

_ That night, at Baker Street _

“And why did they didn’t place you as a TA or don?” Mycroft questions as he pours out two drinks.

“Something about students being the usual clients...” Sherlock catches his brother flinch at the thought of Sherlock being used as bait to catch a drug’s dealer, and he shakes his head. “Don’t worry! I will not test the drugs or do anything broadly ‘recreational’. I’m just going to go to class and talk with fellow students. Nothing more.”

Frowning, as he has a bad feeling about the case, Mycroft argues, “are you sure, brother mine? You weren't that successful the first time around.”

“I have a diploma with mention written on it somewhere that prove that it wasn’t a total failure.”  _ Where is it? I think it may be at the cottage, in my old room. Or maybe at the bank with other papers... _

“Yes, I know and stop fussing, your diploma is at my place with your other important papers.” He stays silent a little, admiring the colour of the whisky he brought, and shakes his head with a little sigh. “Still don’t know how you were able to finish your Master with all the other...  _ distractions _ .” The small disgust in Mycroft’s voice when he said Master wasn’t lost to the younger Holmes.

“Get over it, so I don’t have a post-doc! So what, I don’t want to be a teacher or a researcher,” It was true that he really doesn’t care about that, the most intelligent people he knew have never been to college! “Anyway, you may have a doctorate in international politics, but it’s nothing of importance. It’s not  _ science _ .”

Not wanting to start an argument about the usefulness of Political Science and the merits of ‘soft’ sciences versus ‘real’ sciences, he simply continues, “it’s not the academic work that worries me, it’s... the students, the teachers, the people, do you think you'll be able to cope?”  

Laughing lightly, Sherlock sits in his chair savouring his drink, “Yes, of course! This is only a role after all. And I have changed, I am not the same that I was back then.”

“Maybe... but, be careful brother mine, be careful. You may have changed, but people are still morons.” With this absolute truth – even Sherlock didn’t argue about that! Mycroft left his brother to read the files that Lestrade had sent over.


	2. Dress rehearsal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the first chapter, I’ve said that Sherlock used to go to King’s College, I’ve changed it because it was impossible that no one remembers him! So, he went to Oxford instead, the posh git!

 

_ What a boring name! And my parents, a doctor and a lawyer! Really? _ Sherlock closes the file that contains the details of his fake identity and grabs his phone. 

> ‘William Gallagher’, what kind of name is this? SH
> 
> We already have the paperwork for a William Gallagher and as your name is William it was perfect for undercover work ;-) GL
> 
> How do you kno (erased)
> 
> If you EVER say that to Donovan or An (erased)
> 
> Been waiting years to tease me abo (erased)
> 
> That will do. SH
> 
> What? You aren’t going to threaten , or blackmail me?, I’m kind of disappointed! GL
> 
> Don’t forget! You’ve got to be at NSY at 10 tomorrow for wardrobe, hair and paperwork. GL
> 
> I won’t need it. SH
> 
> Sherlock, you need to cooperate if you want to work with us on this. GL
> 
> You must change your hair! Even though you don’t have that many pictures on the internet, you are starting to be well known among criminal circles. GL
> 
> That posh curly mop of yours is far too recognizable! GL
> 
> I know, I'm not stupid but I will do it myself, don't worry I'm going to be unrecognizable. SH
> 
> Sherlock... please! GL
> 
> No. I know your ‘undercover specialist’ No way I'm going to let that middle-aged suburban mom touch my hair! SH
> 
> God, are you going to be a pain in the ass all the time? GL
> 
> No. Not all the time. SH
> 
> I’m also going to solve your case. SH
> 
> Shit. I’m already tired of all this and we haven’t started yet. GL
> 
> See you tomorrow morning. SH

Smiling, Sherlock puts his phone down and walks in direction of the bathroom.  _ Let the fun begin! _

  
  
  


“And everything is settled, he’s starting tomorrow?” Donovan asks, looking at the map of London on the board as she places a red dot on King’s College main building.

“Yes, and the dean is on board with us – we’ve checked him thoroughly before of course – so nobody is going to be suspicious of a new student mid-term,” Lestrade explains as he puts sugar in his coffee.  _ Ohhhh left-over donuts! _  “Where’s Marcia? Sherlock is going to be here in fifteen minutes, and we need all the wires and, I don’t know, the other things!” He is about to take his first bite in a chocolate glazed donut when someone knocks at the glass door.

“Sorry, Sir, Ma’am,” The voice was quiet, as someone uncertain of the reception is going to have, “Marcia is not available at the moment and she asks me to drop off an ‘un-der-co-ver kit’.” Rolling his eyes at the unsure tone of the young man, Greg quickly waves him to come in and do what was needed.  _ Clearly an intern, God I feel so old sometimes! And we need someone competent or Sherlock is going to destroy the kid! _

After a few minutes, the time it took to open the little box and lay down the electronic device carefully, the way the man is clearly listening to them is starting to worry Lestrade.  _ I can’t remember a memo about someone new or an internship of some sort...  _ Turning to Donovan, who is still looking at her notes, he mouths, ‘do you know him?’ Sally, watching the young man carefully, shakes her head negatively.

“Hey, you’ve got everything you need lad?” Lestrade questions lightly while the woman discreetly presses the emergency button.

“Yes, DI Lestrade, everything is perfect.” He is still presenting his back to the other two, fussing over the wires and batteries. “I’m sorry to say that I’m right, though.”

Reassured by the presence of many officers – now gathering near the door – Greg raises his hand to prevent them from doing anything. “You’re right? About what?” The DI watches as the young man stifles a chuckle. “That’s enough! Raise your hands and turn slowly! NOW!” The man stands tall as he gets up his two hands unhurriedly. His Converse all-black sneakers squeak a bit on the tiled floor as he turns to face the DI and Donovan, the noise echoing loudly in the silent room. Surveying the unknown menace, Greg takes in the black jeans, the Big Bang Theory t-shirt, the relaxed suit coat, the glasses, the reddish hair.  _ God, it’s a bloody kid!  _ “Are you here to spy on us? Talk! And you said you’re right, you’re right about what?”

“Oh, about the fact most of the Met officer are idiots.” The voice, now a warm baritone, is well known to the DI.

_ The fucking bastard! _ “ **Sherlock!”**

“No,” the git laughs, “it’s William! Please do keep up, Graham!”

 

 

Thirty minutes later, Greg and especially Donovan, were still fuming. “This is so, so, so, not good Sherlock! We could have, I don’t know, shot you!”

“Come on, Lestrade, it was funny!” He walks over the coffee-maker and pours himself a mug, “Do you want some?”

“No, we don’t want coffee!” Donovan mutters between her teeth, “You are mad! The security knows you, when you’re yourself! You can’t just barge into Scotland Yard as if you own the place!”

With a little smile, Sherlock puts his mug on the table to drown his coffee with sugar. “Clearly I can.”

"Okay, okay...” Greg interrupts before Donovan and Holmes continue to bicker, “Your little prank worked, be happy and shut-up.” He opens the door after a little knock at the door, it is Marcia.

“Sorry, DI Lestrade, I thought you were aware of Sherlock’s new look and...” she is beaming at the tall git, clearly liking his more approachable appearance, “I think he looks…”

_ No, not another Molly, Jesus.  _ “It’s okay, we’ll talk about this later. For now, please get him wired.”

Donovan rolls her eyes at all the cooing and nervous laughter that is coming from the thirty-something woman as she fusses around Sherlock. “Marcia, still planning that little trip to Paris next weekend with George?”

Blushing, the IT specialist drops one of the wires she was about to tape on Sherlock's torso under his t-shirt. “Yes, we are, I...”

Always a gentleman, and liking the usefulness of the little woman, Sherlock smirks “And you, Donovan, something special with Anderson next weekend? Anderson’s wife going to be at her mom with the kids, it’s a nice opportunity.”

Sally is a moment away from launching at the detective but decides against it when her boss frowns as Sherlock speaks.

"Sherlock, could you please be less an ass?" The DI sighs, clearly exasperated by all this.

"I am exactly as I usually am, I don't understand, what is your problem, precisely?"

"Our problem is that you’re an asshole --" Donovan murmurs.

"Donovan!" Greg swiftly chides her, "Okay... you've got everything. You understand how it works, we’re going to be able to hear everything after you open the link by pressing on the button. We can’t rely on your cell phone because you may not be able to keep it on hand always, better to be more careful and have two options.” Picking up the phone that Marcia brought with her, he gives it to Sherlock. “New phone, new phone number, we’ve put a tracer in it...” After a last look at the map on the wall as well as the different reports and graphs, he nods. “Yep, that’s all.”

“Back to college tomorrow, Holmes, good luck!” Sally sniggers, “Got the feeling you’re going to need it.”


	3. Day 1

The following day, Sherlock wakes up in his single bed in a student’s residence. He isn’t pleased to leave his flat, but he knew that it is the best option available to him in order to mingle with the other students and to ground his alias in reality, so he didn’t fight Lestrade on this. As a little suitcase and his computer are his only possessions, his anxiety is skyrocketing at the thought of not having his violin. Trying to stay calm, he closes his eyes and lets the noises surrounded him.  _ Someone is taking a shower in the room beside mine, two girls are gossiping while walking to the communal kitchen at the end of the corridor, a Med student is repeating his lesson, someone else is screaming at his printer. _

The noise surrounds him and he isn’t able to focus on his task as memories of his time in Uni took over everything. Bullies knocking at his door,  _ come on Freak! Holmes! My girlfriend told me what you said, you bastard! BANG! I’m going to bloody destroy your pretty little face you shit-head! _  The few beatings, the blackmailing to force him to do homework or research, the constant bullying. 

The year when he discovered the silence that drugs offered him…

Breathing slowly, Sherlock sits on his bed trying to find peace in his Mind Palace.  _ I am 28! It’s been nearly ten years, they can’t still have a hold on me! I haven’t touched drugs in years! I’m good, I’m okay. _

After a shower and a last review of his notes, he is finally calmer. _I need to prove myself!_ _Mycroft and the whole Met, they all think that I won’t be able to do this! They’ll see! Fuck, I’m not a teenager anymore!_ Before he opens the door, he takes a breath and releases it... As he walks into the corridor, he inhales deeply and once again lets it go slowly. The quantity of rushing young adults assault him, it is nearly as bad as a teaming Tube station. Already a quarter to nine, most of the students were leaving for a class, talking together, shouting to friends or talking on the phone. Looking at the floor, Sherlock quickly aims for the stairs, not wanting to subject himself to the lift. Unaware of the many interested looks his lean body get during the two minutes it takes before he disappears into the stairwell.

The building is perfectly situated on Stamford Street**, less than two kilometres from the campus. The day is dark and gloomy and everyone is quickly making their way to shelter. Sherlock, following the movement, is in front of the building in a few minutes. To the annoyance of many, he stops short, remaining on the sidewalk, unable to makes himself walk in. Knowing full well that he needs to get in for his nine o’clock Chemistry lecture, he chides himself. _It shouldn’t be that hard, they are all morons. Come on Sherlock. At least it’s not a lab, so I won’t have to talk or work with anybody today. Let’s start this... slow._ After a deep breath, he puts a fake smile and opens the door to get to his class.

 

Three hours later, Sherlock is exhausted and bored to death. The professor is an idiot, the students are idiots, thank God for Anthea who keeps sending him riddles and fun facts about his brother to keep him entertained.  _ At last, the class is finally over! _ Grabbing his computer bag and his jacket he sprints to the door, he’s deciding between going to a nearby coffee shop – a favourite among the Kings' students - or going to the cafeteria, when someone calls him.

“You! The red hair, come here!”

Turning slowly as he adjusts his bag on his shoulder, Sherlock looks at the older man as data flew through his mind. _Professor Holt,_ _55 years old, two stones overweight, divorcee, one daughter, now a young woman, sleeping with someone in the department, basic knowledge of chemistry, no passion, no genius, does not deserve to be in this institution, should be in a secondary school somewhere._

Unaware that the man was actually speaking to him, he is lost in his thoughts and reining in his desire to say everything out loud, he finally focusses when the professor raises his voice.

“Hey! Are you alright, son?” The voice, full of concern with a hefty load of exasperation, insists more loudly.

“Oh, yes. Sorry, I was thinking about... an experiment.” Sherlock mumbles quickly.

“Ah, that I can understand!” The professor laughs, “as I said, I haven’t seen you before in my class., who are you?”

“William Gallagher, I’ve been away in France with my parents for years and they pulled some strings to --” The lies were flowing nicely, the framework is easy enough to be able to keep on track.

“Ohhhh France,” the other sniggers.“And why should I accept you in my class in the middle of the year, Monssieur l’estudiante voyagur.”

Shivering at the terrible attempt to speak French – he was probably trying to unsettle him – Sherlock replies icily “Si vous ne croyez pas ce que je viens de vous dire, vous pouvez vérifier avec ma tutrice, Docteur Walkins.”

Catching the name of his colleague, the man clears his voice. “I will certainly check with her, Gallagher, don’t worry.”

“I don’t, Professor,” unable to stop himself, he points at the whiteboard behind the older man with innocent eyes, “by the way, you’ve got an error, you should have used cobaltocene as a soluble reductant instead of phosphorus.” Turning on his heel, he leaves without saying another word.

 

He is going down the corridor in the direction of the cafeteria when the feeling of someone following him puts all his senses on high alert. Resisting the urge to flee in order to hide somewhere and escape the bullies, he changes the length of his steps and waits to see the identity of his stalker. To his surprise, a small voice laughs right behind him.

“Oh God, thank you! You are walking way too quickly, I wasn’t able to catch you.” It is a young woman, bubbly and smiling. “Sorry to harass you, but wow, I overheard you speak to Holt! Speaking flawless French – don’t have a clue what you said but dammmmmn! - And then an error on his formula! Jezzz it was brilliant!”

Relaxing for the first time since he opened his eyes this morning, Sherlock grins. “It was a pretty obvious error, and his French was truly atrocious.” Extending his hand, he introduces himself. “William Gallagher, but you can call me William.”

“Welcome to Kings’ Will! I’m Lucy,” waving in the direction of the cafeteria, she asks hopefully, “I’m going to grab something to eat, do you want to join me? My friends and I have a table at the back, away from the crowd.”

“Why not.”

 

An hour later, Sherlock is looking around the table, satisfied that he already made contact with useful people. First Lucy, a Biochemistry first year, Marcy who was in her second year of her Chemistry Master and Alan, a Med student, Lucy's boyfriend. As she repeats how ‘William’ corrected Holt, he quickly grabs the attention of a few more of his classmates. 

Leaning on the table, he asks mischievously, “anything I need to know about the other professors? In Chemistry or Medicine? I’m going to have some first-year courses in Biomedical Science.”

“Oh! Some first-year course in Biomedical! Lucky you, you are probably going to get Doctor Watson!” One of the girls swoons.

“Who?” Sherlock frowns, remembering the name on the staff list, but with little more detail than his name and subject. 

A few of the students (especially the young women) suddenly start to talk at the same time, their voices full of excitement.

“He’s one of the lecturers, not a professor –”

“An ex-soldier, if the rumours are –”

“Yes, he is, I’m sure! With his injured leg, it’s so heroic!”

Alan, trying to save the reputation of his lecturer, bravely interrupts, “probably has loads of medals, you shouldn’t –”

“He’s so bloody beautiful for an old guy –”

“He’s not THAT old! And he looks so... dangerous!”  

The girls suddenly chuckle, hiding their red cheeks behind their hands as they start describing the  _ sexy yet kind of short _ blond man.

Not listening anymore, Sherlock texts Lestrade for more info about the lecturer _. Oh, all that is interesting... I’m going to make sure that I am in his class. A doctor, ex-military, returning home from a country known for drugs among other things. Yes, Doctor John H. Watson, you are going to the top of my list. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** For real! It's on Stamford Street lol


	4. Day 2

_Bored. Bored. Bored. Bored._ Sherlock turns around discreetly to check on his other classmates. The modern lab is even better than Barts’ but it was cruelly lacking in body parts! It was full of students, most of them in white lab coats. They were all dutifully reading the instructions for the experiment they need to replicate. In fact, not replicating as written, but trying to find a way to correct it as it was voluntarily designed with an error in the first place. The whole room is reeking of chemicals as the students fail one after the other. _They are all so clueless, nobody here is able to create a drug, even less a ‘good’ one._ Closing his eyes, Sherlock tries to find if he missed something in Lestrade’s report, hoping that the solution was already in his hands.   _Facts, facts, facts..._ _The drug appeared on the street nearly three months ago, it’s called B/O for Bliss and Oblivion_. _Sounds promising..._ Unable to stop himself, he chuckles silently. _Maybe Holt, full of himself and idiotic as he is, is an intermediary?_ _The most encouraging clue is that lecturer, Doctor J.H. Watson, too bad my class isn’t until Thursday._

He is still lost, looking for something to grab onto, to a theory, a motive... when someone clears his throat noisily right beside him. “I hope we are not disturbing your meditation?” The TA jokes, worrying when the class doesn’t laugh with him. “In case you are not aware of the goal of a lab, Gallagher, let me remind you that it’s to actually  _ use  _ the chemicals.” Everyone starts to murmur, waiting for something to happen “I know you are new to our class, and you are probably lost, but that is not my problem. If you are clueless, find someone to work with without being a nuisance if it’s possible, and do something.” The man is turning to get back to the steps in front of the lab when Sherlock finally speaks.

“You are Frank Appleton, the TA, right?” The disgust in Sherlock’s voice was clearly audible to the man and everyone in the room.

“Yes, that’s me.” The man, a few years younger than the detective’s true age, is already a bit red in the face! “In this lab, I represent Professor Holt. I don’t know why you’re giving me attitude, but you owe me respect.” After a pause, where he shifts his gaze away from Sherlock who has unmistakably won the staring contest, he growls to everyone that is staring, “back to work, the show is over!” He is about to walk away when he hears Sherlock muttering. “What did you say?”

“Hum?” Sherlock replies.

“Don’t play games with me!” Pointing a finger at the tall man, the ordinary looking TA looked ridiculous in his righteous indignation, “Professor Holt warned me about you, and he was right! You are an insufferable git!” Losing control of the lab, as most of them were aware of yesterday’s argument between Holt and the new student, he strides to the front of the room and asks, “who knows the solution to our little problem? Let’s show our new friend what you have learned.” As everyone remains silent, he continues. “No one? Come on, contrary to some the rest of you deserve to be here!” He swears silently as one hand is raised defiantly.

“Gallagher, I have no time to lose with –”

Bored and hoping that they’re going to do something more challenging after, Sherlock slides the paper in front of him and scans the formula, quickly spotting the ‘error’ without touching any beaker or pipette. “The Na2CO3 solution should be at 15% not 10%.”

“What?” Appleton shouts, looking at Sherlock with wide eyes.

Uncustomarily docile, the detective repeats, “the sodium carbonate solution, at 10% it won’t work, the experiment is going to be invalid. If you want a positive reaction with the magnesium sulfate, it must be at 15%.” _How could he be that dumb and be a TA!_

To the TA’s consternation, everyone is writing down the student’s explanation. He was about to protest that he needs to prove it, not just guess it, when the class is dismissed for lunch.

Sherlock quickly disappears, not wanting to be challenged by his fellow students because of his attitude. He knows from experience what being a  _ know-it-all _ leads to and Lestrade is expecting him for a meeting. Distancing himself from the others, he doesn’t hear the round of applause the class gives him after Appleton had left the classroom.

Lucy, the class expert in all things ‘William’, stays behind to gossip with the others. They are either impressed by the beauty of the man or his stellar intelligence or both! After less than two days at Kings, William Gallagher is already a legend! 

 

 

Sherlock puts down his bag on the chair next to him and sits in front of Lestrade.  They were in a little café, not far from Kings’ but safely free of any students. Greg, already nursing a coffee, scowls at the younger man as soon as he drops into the chair.

“Three hours, Sherlock, three bloody hours!” He is shaking his head, not believing the report he received.

Frowning, unable to understand what the DI was talking about, the detective protests, “what are you talking about? I think that –“

“I know that you already antagonized a professor!” he tries to keep his voice low, but it was hard!  _ I put my trust in him! God I’m stupid! _ “The first class! THE. FIRST. DAY!”

Happy that Lestrade isn’t yet aware of his little discussion with the TA, Sherlock mutters, “he’s a pompous idiot, anyway --”

“Yes, he’s a Uni professor… Part of the job description is to be pompous!” Opening his phone, he turns his phones to show something to the detective. “Twitter. You are the top subject of #KingsCollege!” Scrolling the page, he incredulously murmurs “ _ Holt has been burned!... Newbie roasts Holt... Holt is an ass, txs mate. _ ..” His cheeks turn a bit pink at the tweets that mention Sherlock’s physique.  _ The number of young women waxing poetic about the ‘tall Adonis with beautiful auburn hair’ that was seen at the Stamford residence yesterday. Shit! Shit! _ Breathing slowly to remain calm, he explains again the importance of the mission, how discretion is paramount to its success!

“Maybe, but if I want to be contacted to become a dealer or a client of B/O, better to be not too mainstream. A reputation of being a bit... well, a bit against authority, can only be a good thing for the case.”

“Maybe but –”

“Do you have more information about Watson? He’s got the right profile.”

“Yes,” Lestrade pushes a file in direction of Sherlock, “not that much, pretty straight forward except the fact that he’s a decorated veteran.”

“Thanks.” Without another word, he puts the file in his bag and grabs his coat. “Got to go, I’ve got a meeting with a group of students in half an hour.”

“Okay, but... be careful, would you? Stop harassing that professor and breaking the hearts of young women!”

“What are you talking about? As if  _ I _ would purposely do something to... to attract that kind of attention. That’s preposterous!”

Laughing at Sherlock’s ignorance, Greg holds the door open for his young friend. They are about to go their separate way when Greg phone chimes, quickly he reads Donovan’s text before growling... 

> He terrorized a TA this morning, it’s the talk of the Chemistry Dpt! SD
> 
> Again. SD

Swearing, Greg mutters, “a bloody TA! Sherlock! He’s only a kid!” but it’s too late, the young man is already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2019/01/31: It's going to be a bit longer, sorry! But don't worry, I'm going to go back to Sherlock's mayhems and sexy lecturer in few days!
> 
> Funny: An experiment that was written as a Sherlock Holmes story! http://www.chymist.com/properties.pdf


	5. Day 3

Sherlock didn’t have a clue of what to do next, which is a new – and unwelcome – feeling.

Opening Watson’s file on the little desk, he shakes his head. _That’s not all, something is missing..._ Except for divorced parents, alcoholic and violent father, now deceased, nothing out of the ordinary except... _except everything_ . How could a troubled teen, silent witness of his father’s rage, is able to stay on track at school. Piling up mentions, captain of the rugby team three years in a row, popular with his teammates and the young ladies... _Something not clear, it’s too clean. University has been paid by the Army, so no big debts except a basic credit card, currently not making a lot of money with his half-time lectures and his army’s pension, just enough… his flat is nothing flashy but central._

Skipping a few pages, he rereads his military record. Everything stellar, a bright young surgeon, respectful of higher authority and fair to soldiers under him. _A real for Queen and Country soldier poster-boy... Until the attack when he was injured._ Perusing the medical record, he frowns at the extensive damages. _Maybe a drug addiction? Because of the pain_ ... _He wouldn’t be the first. And he can’t sustain a real drug addiction on his actual income._

Sipping his tea – the kettle a temporary (unknown) “loan” from the communal kitchen – he opens his computer to see if he is able to find something more when he stumbles onto Watson’s web site. The picture on his blog is the first thing that stirs something. _Is that the same man?_ Looking back at the few pictures in the file, he tries to link them to the black and white face on the blog. Far from the energetic and smiling man that posed in Afghanistan with his team, or that teen running on the soccer field. Eyes glued on the small portrait, Sherlock wasn’t able to read anything. _He’s so... I don’t know, hollow? Generic fake smile, eyes without light, static pose... What are you hiding, Doctor John H. Watson?_

Unable to shake his belief that the man is hiding something, he grabs his bag and runs to his first class.

 

Three hours later, he is rushing to meet his chemistry classmates for lunch when it happens. A contact.

_Finally._

The student, deliberately stopping Sherlock’s walk when he is alone in a narrow corridor, is refreshingly direct. “Hey, mate! You’re that guy, yes. Gallagher? That genius who roasted Holt?”

Scanning the student, _between 22 and 25, Pharmaceutical Science, second year, not doing great, loving parents, girlfriend left 6, not 9 months ago. Addict._ The detective discreetly starts the recording device that he slipped on that morning and smirks.

“Who’s asking?”       

“I’ve got an offer for you...” his voice is only audible to Sherlock, but clear enough to be captured by Scotland Yard team, “I heard that you are a proper genius, I need you to do my next assignment in Holt class.”

 _Oh no, not that, why couldn’t you have been a link in a drug ring instead of the typical moron!_ “You are in that class?”

“I missed the last one, come on mate! I really need help!” Ogling Sherlock’s body he mutters, “I won’t be... ungrateful.”  Suddenly, without further warning, he pushes the detective to the wall between two rows of lockers and shoves a hand in his pants. His fingers touching the detective’s cock without hesitation, clearly demonstrating how he plans to repay the service. “It could be beneficial to both of us.”

Paralyzed at first, Sherlock pushes his panic away and rolls his eyes at the lack of subtlety and utters icily, “you have nothing that can be of interest to me,” and pushes the man away before going on with his day. _What a waste of my time!_

He was few meters away when the rejected student shouts back,“you cold faggot!”

Already on edge, he really didn’t like to be touched except in a fight, Sherlock nearly jumps when a voice enters his ear thru the nearly invisible receiver.

“Oh. My. God. That man really wanted to exchange a hand job or BJ for a Chemistry’s essay?” The disgust was clearly audible, “you should have said yes, Freak,” Sally sniggers viciously, “you’re a bloody psychopath, who knows when someone else going to –”

Sherlock, not wanting to hear anything else, turns the communication device and – after sending a quick text to Lucy to postpone their meeting - he mutes his phone. Breathing slowly, he forces himself to walk calmly as he exits the building, his hands slightly shaking.

 

A few streets away from the grounds, his mind is still fighting away unwanted reminiscences of his Oxford years.

> _A few years ago..._
> 
> “Holmes! You’re going to do as I told you!” The beefy man was pushing hard against his classmate, angry that he wasn’t cooperating. “You’re going to complete the work I’ve gave you or –"
> 
> “Or what?” Sherlock asks, not wanting to give them hold on him and tired of the little games they were pulling on him.
> 
> The hands that were pinning the thin young man to the wall push harder, roughly knocking his skull on the centuries old brick _._ “Or your own mother won’t be able to recognize you! Anyway, how could she be proud of having a lanky twink like you for a  son!”
> 
> “It’s the proof of an open mind for someone as homophobic as you to know such a word, I am really proud of you!” He jokes, unable to stay silent. He didn’t wait long for a reaction as he was once more brutally shoved against the ancient bricks wall, distinctly feeling the blood dripping from the back on his head now. _I wonder if the wound is going to heal differently than the ones on a concrete wall?_
> 
> Sherlock’s mind was fleeting away, cataloging the sensation for future (unknown) use. He was nearly unconscious when a voice resonates in the alley. “Hey! What are you doing? STOP THAT!”
> 
> “Go away, Wilkes, ‘not your business!”

Blinking a few times, he looks around to find a street name, his photographic knowledge of all streets and alleyways curiously gone for a moment. He sighs when a black Sedan parks in front of him. _Shit._ Knowing that it was useless to trying to escape, he opens the door.

“What do you want, Mycroft?”

“I just want to know how things are going, brother mine, just that.” He motions to the space beside him, “please join me, would you?”

Without a word, Sherlock slides into the car and crosses his arms. “Everything is fine, I have nothing to say.”

“This is not what that DI of yours said...” opening his phone, he read “Something happened at Kings and Sherlock turned off his phone. Please ask him to contact us.”

“It was nothing serious, I don’t need babysitting!” Even as if his demeanor was saying everything except ‘nothing’!

Showing his phone to Sherlock, Mycroft remains silent. _A student molested him, I need to talk to him about pressing charges. GL_

Rolling his eyes, the detective laughs. “Pressing charges? If everyone pressed charges every time someone acted like a complete and utter moron, the courts would be overrun with idiots.”

“Sherlock...”

“No, don’t be silly. I will take care of it myself.” Picking up his bag, he places his hand on the door handle, “stop the car, I’ve got enough of you playing the good older brother.”  The car stops a minute later.

“Be careful, brother mine, please. As I told you already, I really don’t like this case. You can’t go back to that mindset without... without consequences.”

“Don’t worry, I am not that stupid anymore.” Opening the door, he flew toward the nearest tube station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And of course, what that little shit did is unacceptable and Sherlock should say something to Kings' security! It's sexual assault.
> 
> Next chapter: John!


	6. Day 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and gentlemen: Doctor John H. Watson

”Are you alright mate?“ Alan asks Sherlock, muttering as the auditorium is filling up, “you weren’t there yesterday afternoon and I didn't saw you this morning, Lucy said you texted that you weren’t available but…”

“Everything is fine, I simply forgot that I had an appointment, that’s all.” The first year Med student is nice and thankfully not an idiot, and Sherlock is feeling a bit sad at the idea of lying to him once again.

Surveying his new friend’s face, the young man frowns, “you look like you haven’t slept very well…”

Laughing, Sherlock waves a hand in dismissal. “Don’t play doctor with me!”

“I won’t,” the young man winks. “I’ve got a girlfriend for that!” Opening his computer, he continues to chit-chat without looking at Sherlock “And you?”

“Me?” The detective murmurs, distracted by opening his laptop he didn’t catch the question.

“Do you have a girlfriend or a boyfriend? If not, I’ve got a few friends who are willing to pay me in pints for an introduction!” Grinning, he didn’t realize that his classmate had frozen next to him.

Slowly, the detective opens a few tabs on his computer, unable to voice a reply. _How long has it been since someone had casually asked him that question... it’s been ages. Except for people who didn’t know me of course. Otherwise, my family, Molly, Lestrade and the others... They all just assumed that I don’t do things like that. That I think myself above all that probably. That I am unable to feel. Is this how it feels to be... normal?_ He was about to mutter a non-committal ‘not my area’ when the side-door opens. _Doctor Watson. Finally._

The noise in the room rapidly died down as the hundred or so students stop talking and moving around. The man surprisingly, as he wasn’t that imposing, generates instant respect.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” spotting a young man with crutches in the second row he smiles.“Hamilton, happy to see that you’re back with us, let me know if you have questions about anything from the last few classes.” Dropping his bag under the desk, he logs onto his laptop and after a moment, the first slide appears on the white wall facing him. “Any question about last week’s session?” As a chorus of ‘no’ dies down, he continues “Today, we’re going to talk about blunt trauma and – even if I am glad that Hamilton tried to give us a very fine example – I can assure you that It’s not as fun as it may sound!” Everyone giggles and shouts good-hearted jokes at the poor student, as Watson sits on the desk and starts his lecture.

Sherlock, not taking any notes, is mesmerized by the man in front of him. Barely older than himself, he exudes confidence, his authoritative yet warm tone commands the room. With patience that seems boundless, he repeats or explains when needed, replying to questions without any doubts. _Is it possible that this man, clearly loved and respected by his students, is the link between Kings College and the dealers?_ His mind couldn’t push the idea away, but his guts were screaming that it was impossible! _Ex-military, a man of action, disciplined, loyal. Maybe something happened? Something to make him rebel against everything he seems to represent? Blackmail? PTSD? He used to have a psychological limp, but it looks okay now..._ The ideas were spinning in his mind and, if he was absorbing Watson’s ‘vibe’ (and overall perfect physique and look!), he wasn’t paying attention at all to the discussion.

 

The lecturer was talking about head trauma – in car accidents, in sport, etc – when someone raises his hand. Nodding at the student, Watson took the opportunity to sip his coffee and sit back down at his desk as at some point he had jumped to show things on the screen and had been energetically walking around.

“Excuse me Doctor Watson but is it possible to know if a trauma occurred before or after the death of the patient?”

Smiling at the question that was showing a curious mind, the doctor asks, “do you have an example?”

The young woman, looking around and a bit shy of being under the scrutiny of her classmates, mumbles “Don’t know... let say that... someone fell on the floor after he died from a heart attack.” As Watson encourages her to continues, she adds, “if the cop only found that the back of the head is cut and bloody, they’ll never know that it was the heart...”

“This is a nice example, thanks!” Nodding fatherly at the blushing student, he raises his chin and surveys the room. “So... you are all bright and curious! Does anyone have an idea? How could we be sure that the head trauma was perimortem or postmortem?” As a cacophony of replies is shouted from every corner of the room, Watson laughs and imposes the silence by lifting his hand. “Most hospitals don’t have equipment that advanced! You have watched CSI one time too many, all of you!” He waited for the class’ laughter to subdued to ask again “So, no one have an idea less expensive for the poor taxpayers?”

Unable to stop himself at this point, Sherlock raises his hand while pushing away the voices in his head that were hissing _‘Freak! Know it all! Shut up, nobody wants to hear from you!’._

Spotting the detective’s hand, Watson blinks rapidly, licking his lips without even realizing it. Shaking his head to shove away the ( _really definitively clearly BAD)_ ideas the beautiful man instantly created.   _Please, please, please, let him be an idiot! It would be so easier if he wasn’t brilliant as well as gorgeous!_ John clears his throat to chase away any hint of a shaking voice “Sorry, I don’t think I remember seeing you...” Quickly looking at his newly updated students’ list, he groans silently. _Ahhhhh... Yes. Gallagher!_ _Okay, so he’s not an idiot, but he’s got an attitude._ More assertive now that he knows whom he’s dealing with, he asks “you have a better idea?”

“Idea? I wouldn’t waste your time with _ideas,_ Doctor Watson,” rolling his eyes as if the mere concept of interrupting a lecture to say something that wasn’t a hard-cold fact was ridiculous, “but if you want _facts,_ I could give you five ways of...”

And just like that, Doctor John H. Watson, ex-army surgeon, ex-captain in Her Majesty’s Army knows he’s in trouble. 

The class is over and most of the students are heading to the cafeteria or the library but Sherlock, able to escape a little group of new ‘fans’ after a flimsy excuse to Alan, hides in a corner of the corridor and waits for Watson to exit his classroom. Uncustomarily, his judgment is clouded by his opinion of the man. _It can’t be him, he’s a good lecturer, way better than any professor I had! And his interactions with students are always spot on, friendly without being condescending. If he’s a part of all this, it must be because someone has a hold on him! He’s a doctor for God sakes., He wouldn’t purposely put a drug that killed people on the street!_ His attention went back to the corridor when he hears the noise of a door shutting as Watson finally leaves the room.

 

Remembering that he was following an ex-military, the detective starts to cautiously tail him. A few meters behind, enough to be able to see anything but not that close to raise any suspicion – the campus was a public building after all! – the little game quickly became useless. Texting Lestrade, he notes everything. As boring as it was.

> 17:05 Suspect is getting a coffee and a sandwich.
> 
> 17:07 Bacon and cheese.
> 
> 17:19 He’s a doctor, he should know better.
> 
> 17:30 Watson is sitting on a bench, eating his lunch but clearly lost in his thoughts.
> 
> 17:32 Bored
> 
> 17:33 Bored
> 
> 17:34 Bored
> 
> 17:37 Talk to me Graham, I’m booooored
> 
> 17:45 He’s walking again.
> 
> 17:50 Looks like he’s going in the direction of the building where the Chemistry Dpt is...
> 
> 17:55 Yes! He enters the building, I’m following him.
> 
> 17:57 Be careful! GL
> 
> 18:05 I’m always careful Glenn.

Nothing happens for a while, Watson looks as if he is waiting for something or someone... The blond man is sitting casually, nursing a fresh coffee and playing with his phone.  But to Sherlock’s expert eyes, it is obvious that he was on the lookout for someone. _I’m following someone who’s following someone then..._ After a few minutes, the cleaning team shows up, opening the rooms one by one. Turning off the light and re-locking the door when the cleaning is done. The moment they enter the third room, the lecturer runs to the door and applies a paste before the cleaning staff ends the job and closes the door for the night.

A few minutes later, as soon as the two women were out of the corridor, the doctor runs to the door and slides inside after removing the paste.

 _What? What’s so interesting in that room, it’s only a classroom!_ After a moment, seeing that the man wasn’t getting out, Sherlock quickly opens the door with his lockpick kit and enters as well, surprised by the total darkness. _Where is he?_

His eyes slowly adjusting to the lack of light, he sees that it is really only a basically furnished lab. With laboratory tables, cupboards, a few Benson burners... He was about to get out to switch the lights – he isn’t able to see where Watson disappeared to – when the noise of a key turning in the door forces him to retreat quickly! Rushing to the back of the room, he opens a tall cupboard, thankfully only holding lab coats and a few brooms and was able to shut it down just as the silhouettes of two men appear in the light coming from the corridor. _Too close!_

His heartbeat is going back to its usual rhythm when he hears something strange. Suspending his breathing for a second, he realizes that he wasn’t alone in the small space. He is hearing a second person, the scent of as yet unidentified grooming products and laundry detergent mixing with his own. Turning slowly on the side, his elbow accidentally nudges someone’s shoulder. _What the-?_ Turning on his phone, he uses the glow to discreetly light the face of his closet companion. He isn’t that surprised at the sight of an astonished John Watson!

“Gallagher, what the Hell are you doing here!” The doctor murmurs angrily before voices coming from the outside force them to remain silent.

Explanations will have to wait.


	7. Day 4 - John's side

Quitting the lecturers’ lounge, Doctor John H. Watson is pretty pleased with himself.  _ Today’s the day! I can’t wait to finally get to business!  _ The thrill of taking matters in his own hands as well as the exhilaration of standing in front of his class – it was his fourth week and he was really liking that – were doing more for his mental health that any session with his therapist.  _ Or writing on that damn silly blog! _ A light smile on his lips, he adjusts his bowtie and collar; the classical nerdy yet trendy look he chooses as his lecturer’s uniform.  _ Anyway, bowties are cool! _ Nodding to other Kings’ employees and some students as he walks to his class, he revises today’s subject in his head until he stands in front of the door. The level of noise was, as usual, quite high.  _ Being young and enthusiastic.. _ John sighs, thinking about his own Med School years. Opening the door energetically, he summons his inner Captain to command an instant silence without having to say a thing.  _ Good to know I haven’t lost it! “ _ Good afternoon everyone!”

The class is well on its way, but Watson’s attention kept drifting towards a new addition to his group. The young man is utterly beautiful, his auburn hair contrasting perfectly with his pale skin. To his annoyance, the student isn’t taking any notes but is instead simply following his every move, as if he was studying  _ him  _ instead of the subject _. Is he looking at me as a man or... Stop it right now Watson! Anyway, he’s a student, way younger than me, and I have enough on my plate right now!  _  Part of his brain still focused on his lecture, he is able to go on even if he was a bit distracted without anyone realizing that his mind wasn’t totally on his task, until someone asks a question.  _ Okay, stop daydreaming Watson, what was the question? Oh yes, post-mortem versus pre-mortem. _ Getting his full attention back to the class, he smiles. “Do you have an example?” The one-sided discussion that follows – students bouncing crazy ideas that only happen in top of the range lab or in a tv show – makes him laugh, pushing away for good his attention from the too sexy student in the back row. “So, no one have an idea less expensive for the poor taxpayers?”

He surveys the classroom, noting that most of the students are now frantically looking to their devices, probably trying to find something to reply.  He is about to give up and explain a bit about Forensic Sciences, a subject that has always fascinated him, when he catches a movement in the corner of his eye.  _ Great, someone found something that doesn’t need a one million pounds gadget!   _ Fixing his eyes on the hand, he realizes that it was attached to THE student.  _ Shit. But maybe he’s going to say something dumb. “ _ Sorry, I don’t think I remember seeing you...” Drinking his coffee, he grabs his students list, realizing that it has been recently updated with a new name: William Gallagher. The student’s fame among the Chemistry students is already well known on the whole campus, as well as his habit of slashing teachers.  _ Okay, so not an idiot.  _ Trying to remove any trace of yearning in his voice and unwilling to give too much attention to someone who clearly has a problem with authority, Watson asks, “you have a better idea?”

“Idea? I wouldn’t waste your time with  _ ideas,  _ Doctor Watson,” the young man replies, clearly exasperated, “but if you want  _ facts, _ I could give you five ways of...”  His voice is like velvet, sending wave after wave of emotion at the usually stoic lecturer.  _ God it’s been so long since the last time I’ve been curious about someone!  _ With only half of his brain fighting to stay aware of what the wonderful man is saying, John remains mostly silent except for acknowledging that the different methods are essentially correct.  He is closing the discussion, thanking Gallagher for his input, when the class mercifully came to an end. The day is over.

 

Alone in his classroom, he still has a few minutes before another lecturer takes his place for an evening class, the doctor slowly unplugs his computer his mind clearly elsewhere.  _ What the Fuck! I don’t understand, down boy! Down! I never EVER had more than a fleeting thought about a patient, I shouldn’t have any problem to distance myself from my students!  _ But it is already too late! The vision of those lips, the hair that is begging to be messed up with lover’s hands, those cheekbones, that voice... Everything is already engraved in his brain.  _ And he didn’t seem to be a jerk, a bit full of himself, yes, but nothing more. _ The next lecturer entering the room ultimately brings him back to the present.  _ Yes. Right.  No time for daydreaming about an impossible man, I’ve got something to do if I want to go through that business.  _ After a quick chat with the cute woman who is giving the next class and curiously finding himself not at all interested by her casual flirting, he grabs his bag and steps out of the room.

Walking purposively, his first step is to drop his university’s issued computer in his locker.  The weather was nice, so he walks out to go the nearest Prêt to get something to eat. A few minutes later, sitting on a park bench with his bacon and cheese sandwich and a nice latte he gives himself a few minutes to think about _him_. His heart starts to beat a bit too fast as the image of the stunning man springs to mind. Shaking his head to chase away the inappropriate thoughts, John chides himself. _Not a man! A student, a bloody kid!_ _He’s off limits!_ A secondary voice appears sneakily, trying to derail his moral compass. _But... nobody needs to know. Or maybe... I can wait for the end of terms. I probably won’t be a lecturer anymore at that time. Anyway, it’s not like he was a patient or a minor. I deserve something good in my life._ Unable to silence the argument that was going on without his consent, he looks at his watch. _17:45._ Slowly, he rises and drops his coffee and paper bag in the nearest garbage can and, after a little hesitation, he slowly walks back in direction to the campus as the sun falls down. _This is the time._

A few minutes later, he was in front of the building that houses the Chemistry Department.  _ I can’t believe I’m doing this, I am crazy... Is this going to solve anything? Is this worth the risk to my reputation, to my liberty, to my life?  _ Giving himself the chance to change his mind, he purchases another coffee from the nearby kiosk.  _ Okay, let’s do this.  _ After a last glance at the now nearly deserted entrance, he enters without letting his doubts change his mind. Taking the stairs, he exits on the third floor where he finds a discreet spot to wait.  His plan is simple, wait for the cleaning staff, block the lock to be able to enters once they gone for the night and the floor is deserted, then wait for the meeting. 

 

Unable to stop his fingers, he starts to look up William Gallagher online to pass the time, without being able to find anything.  _ He’s certainly not the singer, or the deputy, or the scriptwriter... _ Irritated to be unable to push the thoughts of the man away, he nearly misses the two women in charge of cleaning the lab. As planned, he rushes to press a paste to block the door from locking completely and runs back to his hiding place. As the cleaning ladies roll the cart out of the room, talking about Cumberbatch’s last movie, he waits patiently for them to quit the corridor to change floor.  _ Off we go. _

Once in the pitch-dark lab, after he takes care of removing any trace of the paste, Watson uses his phone to locate a suitable place to hide until the meeting took place.  _ Being as low profile as possible is the key to everything! _ If the schedule is respected, he shouldn’t have to wait for long. The lab tables, high and surrounded by stools, are useless as hiding places. Turning around the lab, his phone’s small stream of light reaches a row of closets. The first is full of shelves; the bottom of the second one, covered by chemicals; the last one, thankfully, only contains a few extra lab coats and cleaning supplies.  _ Perfect! _ Shutting down his phone, he cautiously enters the closet before closing the door behind him.  

 

A few minutes later, the sound of someone walking in the room worries him.  _ It wasn’t time for the meeting, as the person is alone and careful to make as little noise as possible, so who is it?  _ Nearly jumping at the surprise, Watson suddenly feels a draft as someone opens the closet door quickly before jumping in and closing it back.  _ What the Hell! _ An unknown person, a head taller than him if he judges by his breath, is with him in that small closet! Wincing as his unknown companion toughly nudges his bad shoulder, his heart somersaults as the discreet glow of a phone set on the lightest setting shows the face of the man he’s been dreaming about for hours now.  “Gallagher, what the Hell are you doing here!” He is about to speak again when William presses a hand over his mouth to force him to remain silent.  _ Great. _


	8. Day 4 - In and out of the closet...

Both men remain silent for a few minutes, listening to the noises coming from the classroom. Watson’s heart is beating far too fast, his inner soldier unsettled by the idea of being in an enclosed space. _And it’s been far too long since I’ve been so close to someone I..._ Censoring himself, he doesn’t finish his thought. Curiously, even if he doesn’t have a clue of what was happening, he wasn’t actually that worried.  Unclear as to what the other man doing here, but instinctively trusting that they were both on the 'good' side. _If he was working with them as a vendor or if he was a client, he wouldn’t have hidden here!_

Sherlock, his hand still on Watson's mouth, drops his head to murmur in the doctor's ear, "I'm going to remove my hand, don't scream or talk. I've got the feeling that, like me, you don't want to be discovered by our... friends." Slowly, keeping eye contact with the lecturer even if they were unable to actually see each other in the dark closet, the undercover detective removes his hand.

The feeling of loss was instantaneous when the surprisingly delicate pressure of the strong hand disappears. Instinctively licking his lips, as if his body needs to taste the young man, the doctor is uncustomarily flustered. _Oh God, this is bad, so bad._  He cringes as desire invades his thoughts and he becomes unable to stop his reactions to the body next to his. Despising himself, his thoughts are quickly followed by guilt. His high sense of morality currently fighting against the urge to simply pull Gallagher by his shirt and kiss him! Touch him! His senses on alert, he is able to feel his heat, to catch his odour.   _He smells so good, it's not fair... and he’s such a tall elegant man! NO! Not man! STUDENT! STUDENT!_ Hating his reaction, unable to stop thinking about what he would like to do with the young man and not trusting his responses, he recoils as far as the small closet allowed. _Anyway, student or not student, we haven’t really talked so I don’t have consent to do anything. So, that’s it. Case closed. I will not push him to the other side of the closet to kiss him. And now if my fucking cock would just listen to my brain..._

He is still trying to corral his feelings, to push everything away, when shouts coming from the classroom help him to change the course of his line of thought.

"You are an idiot! Do you know what's going to happen if he knows your little plan!” The man’s voice is heavy, strong, but edged with fear. “The boss won’t like it, not at all!”

The doubt of the first man is received by a harsh laugh. “Stop being a pussy, Harrison, since when do you mew like a babe when an opportunity to make more money appears!”

“You don’t know him... McAlister, he’s the devil... You don’t want to go against him!” The sound of a bag being dropped on one of the table echoes in the otherwise empty room. “Here’s the next delivery, do as you told and everything is going to be fine.” After a pause, where probably both men simply challenge the other, Watson and Sherlock catch the unmistakable rustle of the exchange of money. “Listen to me, don’t do something stupid or you are going to end up dead.”

“Like the idiots who died from it.” They both chuckles as if it was a good joke, not thinking about the destruction their drug trafficking was causing. After a moment, they carefully walk to the door and – after a quick look around, making sure that the corridor is deserted – they walk away.

 

The doctor rapidly opens the door – happy to be able to do so from the inside. Turning on his heel, he watches as his student remains in the closet, quickly tapping on his phone. “This is not the time to chat on Instagram or whatever Gallagher!” John protest, “maybe you didn’t realize, but they were dealing drugs. In a classroom!” As Sherlock stays silent, texting everything to Lestrade while watching the security cameras outside to get a visual on the men, John rushes to open the light. _Maybe I can find something here!_ He is about to start to look under the lab tables when Gallagher finally replies.

“Don’t touch anything, you know... fingerprints and everything.” He shows his phone playfully to his lecturer. “I’ve texted a friend that I’ve got in the police, he’s going to come discreetly to check for fingerprints, that sort of thing.” He can’t tell him that he is working with the police, not until the case is closed, or at least not until Watson’s role in this was made clearer. “Should be here within 15 minutes... You can go if you want, I’m going to wait for him.” _He’s clearly not working with the gang! He looked really angry at the idea that they are using a classroom to deal drugs! But what is he doing here then? And now, can’t he just... I don’t know... Go?_  In fact, the sole presence of the ex-military man is quite distracting and Sherlock, without admitting to himself, would be better off if he left the lab! The fact that the man clearly desires him is strangely arousing to the usually uninterested man. Without thinking, he suggests, “really, you can go. Anyway, you need to take care of your arousal and –”

“What?” Closing his vest tighter, John objects, in a voice he doesn’t recognise. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Don’t fuss,” the detective mutters waving a hand in dismissal before replying to Lestrade who is asking for more details, “it’s just transport.”

“I don’t know who you think I am, but it’s not my type to _prey_ on students!” John says loudly, furious by the tone of the young man. _Like it is nothing, like it is normal that a teacher would flirt or worse with a student! Oh my God..._ “Have you... have you ever been in such a situation? Not that... you are in a situation right now. I am not AT ALL interested in you! You know you can talk to the dean and --”

“Let’s say that you are not **allowing** yourself to be interested in me is nearer to the truth,” Sherlock argues, his mind elsewhere, “which is already better than many, Doctor Watson, I’m sure that this distinction was greatly appreciated by your subordinates when you were in the army. Too bad that it ended that way, psychosomatic limp and all.”  

John, who is about to walk out of the classroom – he didn’t want the police to question him too closely – turns and watches the chemistry student who is still looking down at his bloody phone. “What did you say?” He walks back and grabs the gadget out of his hand to get his attention “How could you possibly know that?”

 _Oops. I wasn’t supposed to know that._ Thinking quickly, he improvised. “Easy. I observed. You sometimes look as if you are forgetting something. A walking-stick. You are clearly favouring one leg over the other sometimes but can remain standing in front of a class without looking for a chair or sitting at or on the desk. So, psychosomatic. Don’t be shy about it, PTSD is hard... even for doctors.”

“I, I don’t have, I... I am not suffering from PTSD.” John stutters, hating that he was in awe of Gallagher’s analysis even if he is angry at the intrusion into his personal life.

“For a few minutes, your pulse went crazy in that closet.” Sherlock smiles, looking at the clock. _Where is Lestrade!_ “Not too fond of confined spaces, a war trauma probably. I distracted you to keep you from... fainting.” The doctor, silenced by the detective’s monologue, isn’t able to say a thing. “And, your suit is plain but new, you purchased it to play the part, to give an impression of a fatherly figure, so your colleagues and students forgot about your past, to be able to look as inoffensive as possible…” Walking towards the man until he stands only a few centimetres away he murmurs, “What are you hiding, Doctor Watson?”  

“You, bastard!” John is about to push the lanky git away and shout about how ‘not good’ it is to taunt an ex-soldier when Lestrade, Anderson and Donovan enter the room.

“Hello, _William_ ,” Greg laughs (he clearly had overheard John calling Sherlock a bastard!) “is this a new friend?”


	9. Day 4: Scotland Yard

“Let him go... he knows nothing.” Sherlock, his eyes apparently following Donovan’s every move but not missing anything that Watson was doing or saying. Or actually, not saying. _He’s lying all right, but he’s not with the gang._ It’s been hours now since Lestrade did something unexpected: Bringing both of them at the Yard for interrogation! _I know that keeping secret my undercover was important, but that?_ Of course, Sherlock wasn’t actually in an interrogation room, but nonetheless, it was aggravating for the detective. Especially as many of the Yarders openly laugh at the situation. “You are a bit too smug about all this, Lestrade, now let him go.”

Shaking his head to show that he wasn’t buying it, the DI protests with a smile, ticking off his fingers one by one. “The man was on our suspects' list, he was found in a closet in a room where a drug deal happened, he’s not at all cooperative right now and, last but not least, it’s just so funny to see you fussing about the man.”

Without acknowledging the last jab, the detective points at the double-sided mirror. “Look at him, he’s a doctor and a war hero! He’s not guilty of anything!”  _ Or guilty of anything that the Met needs to know right now... _

“And he was in a closet in a locked classroom with a STUDENT. That’s enough to start an inquiry. Are you sure you don’t want to press charges or something?” Anderson sniggered.

Turning angrily at the lanky man, Sherlock shouts, “what are you doing here? We don’t need any of your appalling so-called forensic skills right now!”

“I came to see you in custody, but too bad it wasn’t for real!”

Lestrade, rolling his eyes at the constant bickering, opens the door. “Shut up, both of you! And Anderson, go back to the lab, you are not needed here.”

“Not needed anywhere...” Sherlock murmurs before he finally falls silent.

Once again alone with the younger man, Greg weighs his options. _What_ _the Hell was Watson doing in this closet? His explanation that he was relaxing alone when he hears the door and was afraid of getting caught at a place he wasn’t supposed to be is flimsy to say the least._ _The man clearly knows something! And Sherlock’s attitude, almost protective... Could they.... Could HE?_ The detective’s eyes were glued on the ex-soldier, trying to absorb everything, captivated by the ordinary looking man. Turning his gaze away from Sherlock, the DI watches Watson carefully, trying to find what was so special about the man. After a moment, he asks carefully, “Sherlock, you are sure that the man didn’t... you know. You were alone in a closet for what, 30 minutes? You wouldn’t be in trouble, don’t worry.” _I can feel something between them. I am not crazy!_

“He’s an honest man, I’m sure that he never had any improper thoughts about a patient or a student,” the young man repeats for the thousand times.  “He’s not the type. And he’s certainly not a dealer!”

Lestrade is about to ask why the man who doesn’t trust anyone strangely places his trust in a man he has only known less than a day when the door suddenly opens.

 

“I have nothing unless Kings want to charge him for  breaking... we have to let him go.” Sally’s frown change to mirth as she spots a discreet smile lighting Sherlock’s face. “We can get you back to that closet if you want to continue you little sexy role-play game Freak.”

“Stop it, Donovan.” Closing his eyes a second, the DI tries to plan their next move. “Okay... So, let him go but bring him near my office. I’m going to chide She -, William, hard enough so he won’t have a clue that he’s in fact working for us.” He rises, motioning the detective to follow him. “Donovan gives us five minutes and bring him out.”

“Yes, Sir.” With a wink, she murmurs for Sherlock’s ear only “you’re going to get back your little friend soon, don’t worry. Your daddy slash soldier kink is going to be fulfilled.”

Before the tall man is able to say a thing – the vision of Watson in combat mode temporarily freezing his brain’s cells – Donovan enters the interrogation room to get the doctor.

“You know what you have to do?” Greg looks at the young man closely.

“Yes, you’re going to scold me like a teenager, and I’m going to get out looking all messed-up exactly when Donovan is going to walk by with Watson.” Sherlock isn’t happy to mess around with the other man’s feeling, but if it was needed then _... Anyway, he’s a grown man. I won’t cause him any pain or trouble, right? _

“Are you all right? You are usually all cheery when you’ve got to play a role.” Greg, in fact, is secretly worried. The young detective was like a little brother to him and, right now, he isn’t looking as eager as usual.

“Yes, yes... it’s just that –” editing himself, Sherlock simply shrugs his shoulders dismally. “Nothing.”

Lestrade was about to preen a bit more when he realizes that Donovan was exiting the interrogation room with an irritated, yet slightly contrite, doctor. After a nod to Sherlock, Greg raises his voice a notch. “I know that I’m a friend of your brother, William, but you can’t call me every time you think something's happening!” Standing up behind his desk, he appears angry as Sherlock silently remains in his chair, his head down. “You think you are clever and everything but really! Going in a closed lab to do experiments, hiding in a closet and after that, what?” The grey-haired man was clearly enjoying himself a bit too much! “To talk about drug dealers, about criminals! Come on, I am not an idiot and your older brother is going to know!” Banging his fist forcibly on the desk, he continues. “And don’t you think I am over the fact that you were with a professor –“

“Doctor Watson is a lecturer –” Sherlock tries to say.

“I DON’T FUCKING CARE IF HE’S PRINCE PHILLIPS!” Sherlock, thinking about his brother and his propensity for placing cameras everywhere, raises an eyebrow.  _ Prince Philips, really?  _ “You know what I mean!” Eyeing Donovan who strategically walks near Greg’s office, he continues “go away! And don’t interrupt me like that on any account! Texting me to rush somewhere as if I wasn’t already on a case. We are doing serious work here!” Sherlock nearly lost it this time.  _ Serious work! As if! _ But, before he voices his doubt out loud, he grabs his bag and steps out of Lestrade’s office when Greg screams once more, “and stop flirting with that damn doctor!” His cheeks bright pink, the detective walks quickly – passing right in front of a stoic John – and rushes to the stairs.

A few minutes later, the doctor finally leaves Scotland Yard. It is dark outside and, looking at his watch, Watson is surprised to see that it was already after ten. _What a day. Thank God, they didn’t keep me longer or, even worse, contacted the university! I need that job right now! I am in the best place I can be._ Quickly scanning the curb to check if a cab was waiting nearby, he freezes as he spots his student walking in direction of a cab. _Stop flirting with that damn doctor._  The voice of the DI in charge, Lestrade if he remembers, resonates in his head. _Stop flirting with that damn doctor. Is he really flirting with me? Is he interested? This is... this is not right._ Suddenly tired but needed someone to talk to, he grabs his phone. “Hello, Mike, available for a pint? I know it’s late but --” His eyes still following the young man’s rather delicious and completely out of bound arse, his smile drops a bit as his friend confirms that he was available but not tonight. “Okay, no, no, nothing urgent. Tomorrow is perfect! Great! See you in at 8 PM at our usual.”

Needing to clear his thoughts, he instead starts walking in the direction of his flat. Not noticing that an array of CCTV is following him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not fair! Sherlock didn't really flirt with John. (It's not his fault if he oozes sexiness)


	10. Day 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chemistry, pub and discussion with an old friend.

Opening his eyes after too little hours of sleep, the temporary student first conscious thought  is _Oh no, today is Chemistry class._ Sherlock, already on the edge because of the sleepless night he had, viewing and reviewing all the surveillance camera of the building without being able to get a good view of the two men who left the lab yesterday, isn’t cheered by the idea of getting a full 3 hours with Holt. The fact that he watched for the criminals for approximately one hour (he quickly realizes that it wasn’t able to get a good image) and the rest of the night going over the few minutes of footage where Doctor Watson was didn’t helped.   _I’m so screwed. I need to find out what he was doing there! He’s connected in a way or another, it cannot be a mere coincidence… I don't like that!_

Opening the files on Watson, he surveys what happened after he left the Yard. Nothing special, he walked home, the light went off an hour later _. His next class is later this afternoon, usually he arrives a few hours before to check his next lesson, replies to students and so on. His sister is in Manchester, one good friend called Mike Stamford, a few acquaintances from the army. Nothing special. No girlfriend... no boyfriend._ He sighs, drinking his coffee. _Nothing. Special. No girlfriend... no boyfriend. He’s unattached, like me._ Panicking at the mere thought, how dare, how dare his subconscious push ideas like this in his brain, he furiously combs his fingers in his hair to push the thoughts away.

After a shower, a bit longer than usual but certainly not because of one ex-army doctor, he is ready to leave. _Today, I must learn something, it’s been a week! And now that I’ve got  him ‘out of my system’ I’m going to focus solely on the case. No more distractions!_

 

The first part of the day went as the detective expected. First, a boring Chemistry class where Sherlock had to literally write down the periodic table in a dozen of languages to stop himself from insulting Holt in front of the class. Secondly, lunch time with the few students he gravitates around then a study session at the library. Beside the fact that the case was never far in his head, the whole experience was... pretty normal. It is  a surprise for Sherlock to have what can be called ‘friends’ or even ‘fans’. It wasn’t like that the first time around for sure! _Proof that people at Oxford were morons._ The notion that he may have changed since his college years never crosses his mind.

They are working on a complex formula when something in the corner of his eye catches his attention. A few students, including the asshole who cornered him two days ago, were discussing something at the end of a row of shelves. Even if  he isn’t able to see everything clearly because of a partially frosted glass, things were unmistakably changing hands! Closing his computer, Sherlock rises slowly. “Sorry guys, need the loo, back in a sec,’” Leaving the small room, he closes the door silently before walking in direction of the stacks right behind the spot where the little meeting is taking  place. Once at the end of his row, carefully as possible, he moves the first layer of books to be able to listen. _If I could hear them, or even better record them!_ Activating his recording device, he remains motionless and doesn’t have to wait for long.

“You’ve got the money?” the first student asks, roughly.

An eager voice replies with an edge of fear and hope “Yes, yes... and you said that I should be able to have my money back four times over?”

“Sure deal, mate, that a little gem that stuff. Perfect for stressed out students or anyone who wants to forget their life for a while!” Suddenly, Sherlock is sure that it was the voice of one of the men in the lab!   _Okay, I’m on the right track. Finally!_

“Don’t be a pussy, you’ve got nothing to do... Just give them one pill and they are going to be back for more at whatever the price!” The detective shivers with disgust as he now recognises the voice of the bastard who harassed him. “I’m going to help you, go to the Gold Swan tonight, I’m meeting the big boss intermediary.” His voice was now lace with a bit of fear, “I’ll tell them to let you in... For a certain price of course!”

Replacing the books silently, Sherlock swiftly walks back to the study room where his classmates are waiting. Lucy, smiling at her strange new friend, whispers, “we were starting to worry, William! Are you all right?”

“Yes, never been better. I was wondering, anyone up for a pint tonight?”

 

That night, Sherlock, Lucy, Marcy, Alan and a few others met at a pub near the campus. All together at the same big table, the night was going well! The discussion is full of wit and intelligent stories and the detective surprisingly finds himself enjoying his evening. So far, that bastard (Identified by Kings’ security as Harry Bidget) and that poor student he was luring in aren’t there. _And the boss’s second isn’t either. Come on, I need something!_ Surveying the room again, he didn’t see anyone able to make Bidget’s shivers of fear. _Many students, a few office clerks, nothing unusual. Dull._

A few pints later, only one for Sherlock who wants to stay alert, the door opens to Bidget and his new ‘friend’. _All right, the game is on!_ Putting down his buzzer - his table was about to win the Pub Quiz anyway – he follows the men discreetly with his eyes as they walk through the crowd to a little table in the corner. After a quick one-sided discussion with the couple who is drinking and minding their own business, they take command of the table, sit and wait _. Okay, so the real dealer is not here yet. I need that man, I need to get a link to the top of the hierarchy!_ Focussing solely on the little table, certainly waiting for that third man!, he never saw a familiar figure entering the pub.

 

“Hey John!” Mike is walking like a man on a mission! “Moira is at home with the kids, a friend of her is there to watch a stupid romcom so I’ve got the whole evening! It’s time for a few pints!”

Laughing, the doctor quickly hugs his friend. Silently, they start walking in direction of the pub. _If someone can help me to make sense of all this, it’s Mike!_ The man, John’s friend for nearly ten years now, is always there when needed. A harbour  when the other man is lost. _I’m not half a good friend as he is. But his life is always... good. So, I can’t be as helpful!_ He knew this was bollocks. _I should be more present in Mike’s kids’ life, at least more there for little things_ . _He’s been there with me when my mom died, the countless times I’ve been ditched by a woman, when Harry went to rehab, when I came back from Afghanistan... And now, I still need him! I need the voice of reason._  

“Everything alright, mate?” Mike asks, when they finally stop in front of the pub. “You’re usually more talkative.” A little joyful smirk appears on the man’s lips. “Is this about a laaaaaaady? Or more serious about a gentlemaaaaan?” He always knew that John was bi and has always been convinced that his friend would be better fitted with a man.

“Get inside,” the doctor playfully pushes his friend thru the door, “I’m going to need alcohol to talk about this!”

The pub, a popular place near the university, is nearly full and the only place available is at the bar. But it is okay, the crowd is more prone to give them anonymity than a deserted place where their voices would resonate everywhere in the room.  After they receive their beers, Mike waits silently, looking at his friend with an open smile that screams _get on with it_.

 _Okay. I can’t say everything, but at least I can talk about... him._ “It’s... it’s not that serious. I’m not sick or anything. Harry’s still doing fine, as far as she’s able to remain sober, it’s just... that...” Drinking a few sips to summon the courage to talk, he closes his eyes and mutters quickly, “I-think-I’m-falling-in-love-with-a-student.”

“Ohhhhh, in love, really?” For all the discussion about adventures with men or girlfriends, having John H. Watson talking of love was quite new. _This is serious._ “That’s good, really good. I’m... yes, I’m proud of you, John. I never thought that I’ll see the day when you opened up yourself enough to listen to –“

“Mike,” Watson interrupts his friend, “have you not caught that the most important part of this is that it’s a STUDENT!” He looks around, but nobody was paying attention to their discussion.

“Yeah, but he or she is over 18, no?” He is clearly not seeing the problem, to John’s annoyance.

“Maybe, but he’s under my... my responsibility.” Rubbing his temples as to chase the sentiment away, he waits for Mike’s verdict. “He’s... he’s so beautiful, Mike. I’ve never seen a man so pretty, but pretty in a man way, you know. Strong, agile, tall, but not bulky or anything.” He sighs, his thoughts turning back to the time they spent in the closet. “And he smells so fucking good, and his voice... God, I nearly came just by hearing his damn voice.”

“So, he’s attractive... anything else?” Mike chides softly, wanting to be sure that it wasn’t only an infatuation.

“He’s brilliant, funny, does not act like a teenager like many young adults nowadays, you know what I mean?” He smiles, thinking about the discussion in his class about forensic, “and when he likes something, his eyes sparkle! He’s vivacious, bright... I could listen to him for hours.”

“Do you think... he shares your feeling?” _This is the most important question of all!_ Remembering the way William walked close to him, until they nearly touch, when they were in the lab. The way his hand gently covered his mouth, John nods. “So, you talked to him quite often?”

“Nope.” A bit sloshed, John orders more beers, “only once in my classroom, once in a closet –“

Spitting his beer, Mike asks incredulously “What? In a closet?”

“Yes...” John replies, absentmindedly “Then I saw him at Scotland Yard after we shared a ride in a panda car.” Another sigh. “Anyway, he’s my student. I can’t do anything.”

“At the end of the session, he won’t be anymore. I’m happy to be right about the fact that you may have played around with many women, but it’s a man that’s going to be your downfall.” He calls the waiter to order shots to celebrate, “Romantically talking of course, not career wise or anything.” Shoving a whisky shot in his friend’s hand, he grins. “To the opening of your heart, John, may you obtain everything that you desire! You do deserve a perfect partner!”

“He’s not perfect.” John’s grins drunkenly, “his pale skin would be wonderful against dark hair... and that perfect arse would be to die for in a tight suit.”

Shaking his head at his friends silliness, Mike raises his hand to orders a couple of shots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question! A small addition of Mystrade or not?


	11. Day 5 - Later

“Anything new?” Lestrade asks as he’s entering the meeting room.

Turning in the direction of her boss, Donovan shakes her head. “No, so far the only things we know is that Holmes and the mini-mes he chooses as friends are nailing the pub quiz!”

“Bloody know-it-all! Who knows the capital of Bangladesh anyway!” Anderson sniggers, looking at the surveillance camera they discreetly put in the pub.

“It’s Dakha, and as the People’s Republic of Bangladesh used to be a British colony, I think that most of the moderately educated British citizens should know that.” Everyone turns towards the door where a frowning Mycroft Holmes is standing, as regal as if he was on his way for a meeting with the PM. He smiles coldly. “Or perhaps you asked a rhetorical question? I never know with idiots... DI Lestrade, a word please.”

“Yes, yes, let’s go to my office.”  Greg nervously puts down his coffee and leads the way to his office. As soon as the door closes after the two men, Mycroft attacks.

“I don’t know what game you are playing, Lestrade, but my brother is neither a pawn nor an object of amusement for your... _team_.” The disgust Holmes felt when he overheard Anderson and Donovan talking about Sherlock is clear.

“No, no, of course... it’s just that it’s been a long day, but we need to keep an eye on Sherlock tonight as we finally have a lead –“

“Yes, I know about tonight’s meeting.” _My own team is also watching, I’m not an imbecile!_

“I presume that you weren’t... hum... thrilled at the idea of your brother going undercover to catch drugs dealers.” Greg says, knowing he is right, “I have the utmost faith in –“

“Don’t tell me what to think about my brother, DI Lestrade, just be sure that nothing unsavoury happens, that’s all I require.”  Greg shudders at what he knows for a fact was a very unsubtle insinuation that Holmes wasn’t overly confident about the Met’s ability to protect his brother... and to keep him away from the sweeties.

 

Checking his phone which is vibrating in his pocket, Mycroft sighs lightly. Greg is about to protest that they weren't THAT incompetent, when the government man turns away to speak into the phone “What do you mean, a brawl? With whom?” His voice turns deadly suddenly, “that little shit! And the ring leader was there? Do you have any identification?” He pauses a little, listening to Anthea’s report, “I see... No, don’t intervene until he’s in real danger... I don’t want him to be mad at me for interfering. Thank you, Anthea, call me as soon as something happens.”

Curious about who or what could make him say words like 'shit’, Greg asks, “what’s going on Mycroft! Is it Sherlock... a brawl, where? At the pub?” Mycroft silently rolls his eyes at the obvious question, he likes his friend dearly but sometimes... when Donovan rushes in the office.

“Boss, something going on at the pub, the Fre –“ the simultaneous glares of Holmes and Lestrade bring her words to a sudden halt before she takes a breath and manages to recover enough to stops, “Sherlock is in the middle of a fight!”

Walking out in the direction of the meeting room where the surveillance material was set up, he quickly asks without stopping, “how? What happened?” _How could something turn bad that quickly!_

Sally, thinking about the snogging session she had with Anderson instead of checking the screen, mutters, “I don’t know Sir, it just... One moment everything was normal and then –“

“The right-hand man of the dealer was there for a few minutes then left,” Mycroft replies to Greg’s question. “Then, Sherlock tries to get out discreetly to follow him but the... student that harassed him a few days ago – the man we now know has a part in all of this – spotted him.”

“Yes,” Anderson nods, “that it. I just rewound one of the videos a bit and that’s exactly what happened.” He is watching Mycroft Holmes in awe, dumbfounded at the idea that someone is already aware of everything. He promptly hands his boss the phone.

>  The man is there, I’m 99% sure WG
> 
> Do you have a visual, can you confirm his identity? WG
> 
> Anybody? Do you remember that we are currently doing a stakeout? WG
> 
> He’s leaving, what do you want me to do? WG
> 
> I’m following him, let me know if one of your lot decides to do their job. WG

“Shit, shit, shit!” Lestrade swears, “what were you doing Donovan! It was your job to –”  

“Sorry, really!” Shame was reddening her cheeks, “do we need to send a team boss?” She turns to look at the screen where Sherlock was effectively defending himself and wasn’t looking too much in trouble then went back to look at Lestrade. _Anyway, it’s probably some foreplay for the Freak!_ Obviously smart enough to keep her thoughts for herself, she repeats, “Sir?”

“A second man is helping the other by holding Holmes now!” Anderson shouts. “We must send someone right now! The nearest cops are only a minute away and -”

A small smile on his lips, Mycroft points the tele, “I think he does not need help anymore, don’t you think?”

 

_10 minutes earlier._

Sherlock is still inconspicuously checking on the small corner table where Bidget and the poor idiot he enrols in his gang wait for their contact when, finally! The door opens to let in a man who carries an aura of danger and authority. _I’m certain, that’s our man!_ Subtly, he writes a text to Scotland Yard as the military looking man walks to the small table and sits down with the others. Turning a bit to talk with his classmates – just enough to not raise suspicion by staying silent too long – he waits a few minutes before sending another text. _They must know who it is!_ As his phone remains silent, he sends one more message. Incompetent! _I bet Donovan is snogging Anderson instead of watching what’s going on!_ He pushes away a quiver of disgust at the thought when the man rises slowly from his chair and walks out. _He stayed for only three minutes! No, no, no! What I’m supposed to do!_ Urgently, he taps out a message that remains unanswered, like the others. Without a word, Sherlock leaves the table and rushes in the direction of the door.

Blinded by his exasperation, one of his few flaws, he didn’t realize that Bidget, full of self-confidence following his meeting, is standing behind him. Until an heavy hand drops on his shoulder.

“Don’t leave, maybe a few pints are what it takes to warm your cold arse, Freak! My offer is still valid, but this time you’re the one who’s going to –”

The satisfactory tone of the bastard’s voice, reminiscent of many others, the sight of the suspect getting in a cab outside the pub, the Met’s incompetence... all this is enough to erase the little patience Sherlock had left. Turning on his heel, he curled his hand in a fist and hit the man’s jaw, effectively cutting his speech short.  The man, bulkier but of equal height, nearly falls to the floor but was able to grab onto a stool. Shaking his head to get his bearings back, he angrily jumps on Sherlock as the other patrons move away shouting. The exchange is going on for a few minutes and Bidget – now joined by his new recruit – is slowly getting the upper hand, when someone jumps in the melee.

“Hey, asshole, if you want to fight two against two, I’m your man. But for now, get your hands of him!” (It sounded really nice in John’s head, but as he is prettily smashed it is unfortunately not completely clear.) The doctor angrily peruses his student’s body for injuries. One of the men is keeping him immobilized, holding him by stretching his arms behind his back. The position shouldn’t be a challenge for Sherlock, but a previous blow to his torso is causing him pain. Raising his head, he simply looks at the doctor with a small smile as a drop of blood drops from the corner of his mouth.

Bidget is about to shout to the older man to fuck off when he finally hears the murmurs around him. _It’s a teacher, he’s from Kings yes! Doctor Watson! OMG, the ex-military! Bidget is in so much trouble, it’s Bidget, right? He’s in so much trouble! The bartender just called the cops!_ With a sign from his ‘friend’, the man that is holding Sherlock lets him drop on the floor as both men run to the exit.

Watson, quickly sobering up, grabs William before his head knocks on the floor. “Gallagher... William... Are you all right?” He finally breathes when the young man starts to cough and finally reopens his eyes. _Good, good. Oh my God, I’ve never seen such beautiful eyes. Not good, I’m a doctor._ Checking his eyes for any signs of concussion, he is satisfied up to a certain point. _He’s going to need an x-ray for his ribs and maybe a scan._

He is still holding the undercover detective, unable to give a damn about the rumours that spread around them when Mike’s joyful voice murmurs near him. “So, this is your William. That will to stay away didn’t work after all.”

“Shut up Mike,” John chuckles, admitting for a small moment that he is lost to the lanky git in his arms, “help me to get him to a surgery.”  


	12. After the fight...

John is helping Sherlock to stand up and they are about to walk out of the pub when the police finally arrive. _About bloody time!_ “Officer! This man needs to go to the hospital and –”

“Yes, yes, I see.” Sally nods, looking at Sherlock. _Oh God, he looks under the weather for real, I hope nothing is too bad... Because of the case of course!_ she rectifies quickly, _of course!_ Raising her arm, she calls the medics who have arrived with them. “Take care of that man.” The doctor was about to follow when Donovan softly places a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry Sir, we are not done here.”

Looking at the young man with worry, he argues while still trying to get his thoughts together and thinking that the shots were definitely too much! “but, I need to go with him!”

“Excuse me Sir, are you a tutor or do you have any family relationship to the young man? Anything change since the last time we saw you?” _As long as we don’t know why the doctor was in that lab... And why THAT pub, THAT evening? Better to stay silent about Holmes. Anyway, from a legal point of view, he’s a second away of pursuing one of his students._ She recalls the teachers with grabby hands and the many similar cases she saw at the Met. It wasn't in favour of the lecturer, even if she joked about 'Sherlock's Doctor' a few times. She waits, looking at John with stern eyes.

He knows that arguing wasn’t in his best interest, but he was unable to stop himself! “No... I’m not, but –“

“So, you can’t ride with him then, simple as that. You are free to follow the ambulance when we are done, but the hospital won’t tell you any more as you are not related.” After a quick survey of John’s dishevelled appearance and a sniff of his breath, she frowns. “If you want to follow it, I suggest a cab or to call a friend.”

“Of course, I will not drive –” but the doctor’s protestations are lost as the vehicle left for the hospital. The fact that they didn’t on turn the emergency light was a good point. _He’s probably not that bad..._

“So, we have all the time in the world, right?” She smiles at him as she pulls out her notebook and pen. “First things first, could you please repeat your name and what’s your relationship with the young man? Do you know the men who assaulted him?”

Rolling his eyes as Stamford is talking to another officer, probably answering the same questions, he explains everything. Everything except the fact that he is actively trying to find a gang leader...

 

“Don’t even try to fake it, brother mine, I know you are awake.”

Opening his eyes slowly, Sherlock murmurs softly as if he wasn’t already awake. “Mycroft, is it you?” As his older brother raises an eyebrow, he chuckles. “Worth a try, sorry!” Mycroft pours a glass of water from a carafe and hands it to his younger brother with a plastic straw in it. “Thank you, do you have news about the man that was there? The third? Do you have his name or anything?”

“Yes, we matched him with someone in our database, his name is Sebastian Moran. He’s an army ex-colonel, now known as the right-hand man of the leader of a criminal organisation.” Looking at the screen of his phone, he shows a photo to Sherlock, “that’s him, right?”

“Yes, it’s him! Finally, we’ve got something...” He winces as he inhales profoundly. _Right, I’ve been in a fight with that boor of Bidget! But what am I doing in a hospital bed? It was just a fight! It’s Mycroft and his coddling!_ “How am I, really? Except for a few bruised ribs, a sprained shoulder... Really shouldn’t be here.” He smiles obliquely, “By the way, I told you that I didn’t need to file a complaint against Bidget, hope he’s feeling as bad as me!”

“You’ve also got a spectacular black-eye as well as many ecchymoses on your legs.  Don’t know about that poor excuse of a man... And I don’t really care.” Opening his phone again, he smirks. “You are the star of Twitter once more.” Opening the app, he scrolls until he finds what he was looking for and gives Sherlock the phone.

It was bad! More than a dozen pictures, videos and comments about the fight!

> OMG Two students from Kings are fighting! Come on don’t mess his pretty face! #KingsCollege
> 
> That bastard is going hard on the cute genius, where are the cops!  #GoldSwan #KingsCollege
> 
> Thank God Dr Watson is there! A bit drunk, but he’s so pretty! #SexyDoctor #KingsCollege #OlderManKink
> 
> That bastard is getting away! Hey cops, his name is Bidget! #KingsCollege #GetThatBastard
> 
> Awwwwww cute cute cute pic of Watson holding his sweet boy #SexyDoctor #KingsCollege
> 
> Can he hold him like that???? He’s a teacher ewwwwww gross #KingsCollege

That last one made Sherlock cringe. _Hope he won’t have any problem because of me!_ Pushing the feeling away, he asks “Where’s Bidget now?”

“The police got him an hour ago, he was hiding at his girlfriend’s place.”

“NO! They need to let him go! We need him free to –“

“It was filmed, it is public assault Sherlock. They have no choice. You’ve only free of charge because a staggering amount of people said that he attacked you first… even if we know that’s not true!” Mycroft sighs and shakes his head, placing his hands on the handle of his umbrella. _I am really not a fan of this case._ “But don’t worry, he’s going to be out soon enough, and you’ll be able to continue the case. Are you sure –“

“Yes, I am.” The young man interrupts with a wave of his good arm. “This is important, they are... they are selling drugs Mycroft. Targeting the young and...” He slowly turns his head away, a cold rage pooling inside him, “they are targeting the young My’, new users, selling that shit as if it was the solution to everything. The solution to... to the misery that their life is.”

“Sherlock...” Mycroft gingerly moves a hand over his brother’s, unsure of the reaction. Breathing better when he didn’t push him away, he continues, “you can’t help all the kids in the street, all the lost souls, all the young adults who just don’t know what to do to fit in!” They stay silent for a bit, both thinking about Sherlock’s past, but not for the same reason.

“I know that I can’t save them all, but I can’t do nothing either, can I?” Dropping his eyes to look at his bandaged ribs, he sighs, “all this is not important, Mycroft, it’s just transport. I hope nothing is lost and that I didn’t blow my cover!” As he thought about the fight, a warm feeling suddenly chases the detective’s dark mood, _Doctor Watson... He saved me, not that I needed saving, but it was... Nice... that someone cared. To think that I’m worth the trouble._ He discreetly checks his brother who was again reading something on his phone. _I know that he loves me, he has no choice, he’s my brother. And he needs to protect me or Mummy is going to be upset._ _But John... John, this is something else altogether._

“I presume that you want news about your... friend?” Mycroft says, with mirth in his voice, stopping Sherlock’s wool-gathering.

Frowning innocently, the detective replies, “who?”

“Your saviour, of course, Doctor John H. Watson. Ex-military extraordinaire,” the older man teases. “He’s fine, he’s asking about you.”

Unconsciously he tries to put some order in his hair as if the doctor was about to enter the room. “What did you say?”

“That we thank him for his help, that you were not severely injured, and he should expect you to be back to class in two days.” Texting Anthea, he asks about the doctor’s whereabouts and chuckles at the response. “He’s in the cafeteria drinking bad coffee right now.”

Without being able to stop himself, Sherlock requests, “can I talk to him right now?”

“That not a good idea, not if you want your... friend to still have a job by the end of the week.” Mycroft chides, looking stern. “He’s an older man, in a position of authority. He should know better.”

“Older... Older... He’s what, five years my senior?” The detective complains even if he knows that his brother was right,  “I’m not a real student also, don’t forget!”

“He’s not aware of that fact. You already have a few pictures of him holding you, I’m trying to get them erased but it’s not that simple.” Getting up, he presses his lips as if he was already regretting what he was going to say “I know someone who knows the dean, I’m going to ask her to put in a good word about Doctor Watson. He should be able to end the semester, at the very least.”

“Mycroft... thanks. It’s not _his_   fault that...”

“No, Sherlock, it’s _yours_. Take care, and give the man a break, would you?” With that, he turns away and walks out of the room to resolve the mess.


	13. Day 6

A fresh coffee in hand, John walks out of the uninspired cafeteria to go back to the floor where William was. _Maybe I’m going to be able to talk to someone this time! I don’t want to go inside his room, but I’m a doctor… I just need to get real information, not bullshit like ‘nothing serious’ or ‘I can’t tell you anything more!’_ Once in front of the still uncooperative nurse, a man suddenly appears near him, making him jump.

“Doctor Watson?” The voice was stern, but not unkind.

“Yes?” Certain that it was a hospital official or worse, security, John turns to face the man. Instantly feeling every inch as old, disheveled, hungover and sleep deprived that he is. The tall man is so clean and proper that it was hurting his eyes. _Who the fuck can remain that pristine in a bloody hospital! And what with the umbrella? Hasn’t rained in days._ Tired and fed up with all of it, he mutters a not so friendly “what do you want?”

“Just to tell you thank you for your intervention.” Extending his hand for a handshake, the appreciation real, Mycroft smiles and continues after a small pause, “my brother is a difficult... young man, it’s good to know that he’s isn’t hated by all his _professors_.” The weight on the last word is obvious, the message clear. Before walking away from the desk, he murmurs “go home, Doctor Watson, he’s in no danger whatsoever besides dying of boredom and you need a good night of sleep. Anyway, you have only a little room left before you start having trouble with the Dean, do yourself a favour, leave now.”

The nurse, who stayed strategically away while Mycroft was there, came back as soon as the powerful man steps in the elevator. “Doctor? Just to let you know that he’s sleeping at the moment, everything is okay, and his brother is going to pick him up at the end of the day to take him home. So, nothing to worry about.”

“Going to go home then...” John sighs and drops his now cold coffee in the bin before one last longing look to the door where he knows William was resting _. Really need a shower and a nap._

 

 

_Later, at John's place..._

> The heat is unbearable, the day long and monotonous... A day like dozens of other days since he had arrived in Afghanistan. Looking at the horizon, he isn’t really paying attention to the light banter of the others, too exhausted to laugh at their silly jokes or crude comments about whatever they are talking about. The sun, disappearing behind the mountains, is beautiful and soothing. Hypnotic. Everything is perfect for a second or two.
> 
> Until it isn’t.
> 
> The first thing he remembers is the absolute silence, as the loud explosion completely deafens him for a moment. Automatically, adrenaline kicking in, he turns towards the men and women of his small expedition group to check if everyone is okay. Helping one to get to cover, pushing on a wound to keep the blood loss to a minimum. Pushing with one hand. _Why do I push with one hand? This is silly._ A hand on his shoulder pulls him out of his trance. A man, _Parker? McCaan_ ?, is looking at him with worry. _Why?_ And suddenly he realizes. The blood isn’t only from the other soldier, it’s his. Turning slowly, he looks at his shoulder with a professional and distant eye. _Big caliber, the nerves are going to be a mess to get back together, poor sod, it’s going to be painful._ Before he faints on the hot sand among the fellow soldiers he just saved.
> 
> A flash and he’s in the little military hospital, fighting the pain, fighting the nurses, angry but resilient. Cold. Dead inside.
> 
> Until he hears a voice at his left. “Hey! You, Captain! The silence is driving me crazy... No radio, no tv, what kind of crappy hospital this is! No A/C... Talk to me, mate, I’m dying of boredom here. Among other things!”
> 
> Looking at the other patient, John mutters forcibly, “could you please just shut the fuck up?”
> 
> “No, not really. Sorry mate. I’m too bored. Anyway, sorry to say Captain, but you can’t do a lot against me right now.” Over the pain, the smirk is audible.
> 
> Tired, Watson murmurs, “What do you want... I just want everyone to forget that I’m here.” The weight of a paperback suddenly falls on his stomach.
> 
> “Could you please read to me? My head is hurting when I read right now, bummer. It’s just a Le Carré spy thing, but I want to know how it ends.” As John looks at him, astonished by his persistence, the other man smiles openly “Hi, mate, my name is Paul!”

Opening his eyes suddenly, John fights against the tears that were starting to form under his lids and presses the heel of his hands on his eyes. Pushing his dream away. _Paul, I’m so sorry mate, I’m going to find the bastards, I swear._  The sun getting in through the opened blind helps him a bit, but he is still groggy. _Arrrg! Four hours of sleep isn’t enough, I’m not a young man anymore_ ! Fortunately, he was sensible enough and took a shower before dropping in his bed and wasn’t stinking of stale alcohol.  Looking at the hour, he decides that it would have to be enough if he wants to be able to go asleep tonight! Jumping from the bed, really slowly and massaging his bad shoulder, he grabs his phone before going into the kitchen for a coffee. _A ton of coffee should do the trick._ Guiltily pushing away the memories of his friend away, he considers calling the hospital. Just to be sure that William was out and that no complications arise, of course.  He’s still unsure about what to do next, when his phone pings, from a restricted number.

> Don’t worry, he’s out of the hospital and not alone at the moment at peak peevishness I assure you. He’s going to rest for the day than should be able to go to class tomorrow.

_Okay, that's officially creepy._ He quickly replies, _Thanks, who is this? Is this his brother?_ but his text pops back with an error message. _Weird. Okay, so better wait to see him at our next class, tomorrow afternoon._ Holding his cup, he thinks about the previous evening. The way he opened up to Mike about his what can only be called sentiment for William, how bad he is feeling even if he can’t ignore the fact that the beautiful witty man already has his heart. _That brother of his is clearly a drawback_ , he smirks.

Opening his laptop, he checks his emails, replies to a few students then tries again to find something new about the drugs trafficking at Kings. He has befriended as many professors and employees as possible in the Chemistry and Medicine faculty without finding something definite. _Holt is an asshole, but that doesn’t mean that he’s creating drugs! And he’s not bright enough to create a such ‘effective’ product._ He shivers of disgust at the images of young users, crying for the pain to stop and for the bliss to come back. _This is horrible._ A controlled usage is causing a temporary euphoric state, the overdose creates the contrary. Until the body can’t take it and just stops functioning. _As if the heart was broken..._  The last image of his friend Paul, a few days before his death, is going to haunt him for the rest of his life.

 

John is reading some articles about the presence of B/O in Glasgow, _who’s the bastard who came up with that name, Bliss and Oblivion... Marketing that junk as if it was a solution to everything,_ when someone knocks at his door. Closing his laptop he walks to the door cautiously as he rarely has visitors and looks through the peephole before opening the door. "Hello Mike, come in!"

Even if his friend is only a bit more rested, he is painfully cheerful. He grins and winks, "hey mate, how are you? What a night!" The good night of sleep was the only reason why he is looking marginally better than his friend.

"Stop being so chirpy," John chides playfully, "I've got a headache!"

"I'm on my way to a meeting outside of the office, today of all day poor me, and I decided to come and see how you're doing." Sitting at the kitchen table, he smiles as John pours coffee. "Thanks, mate!"

"I know that you want to know what happened after we left each other last night..." He waits a bit, knowing that his friend will probably tease him relentlessly, and drinks his coffee silently for a minute. "I had to go to the hospital, you know... I couldn't just let him be there alone."

Frowning theatrically, Mike shakes his head with sorrow, "poor kid, was he really all alone?"

 _Kid, as if!_ "Stop it! Someone was with him, I learned later that it was his brother." He grimaces as he remembers his 'conversation' with the man. "He's probably out of the hospital right now, it wasn't really serious."  The image of the limping young man, his bruised face, the blood on his lips was affecting him. _This is silly, I've seen dead comrades, I've seen things that no man should have to see. How is it possible to be that shaken by the outcome of a pub fight?_ “I don’t understand.”

Mike, knowing that his friend is getting there, asks calmly. “What do you don’t understand?”

“The war, I’ve seen horrors... I shouldn’t be that affected by that. This is ridiculous. I don’t even know the _man_ .” _Not a kid, not really a kid..._

“What can I say, John, love is a strange emotion –”

“Who said anything about love?” The doctor jumps out of his chair, panicking.

“You, silly man! You know that you don’t have to say the word to make it real?” Getting up to stand near his friend, Mike puts his strong hand on his shoulder and looks into his eyes with mirth. “Congratulations, Doctor John Hamish Watson, you are officially, definitely and irrevocably in love!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor John, he lost a friend (more details on that friendship later) to that damn drugs! 
> 
> I know, I'm far from a cute and fluffy romcom :-) Let me know what you think so far!
> 
> Also, I'm going to be away from my computer for the next two weeks (Belgium, here I come!) so I'm going to be a bit late for the next chapter... Update: April 7th: I'm back! I'm going to work on the next chapter and hope to have something before the end of the weeks!


	14. Day 8

Sherlock walks out of his building, trying to keep his computer bag on his shoulder without hurting his ribs. And failing. _Ouch_ . Lamentably. _Ouch_ . Frowning every time the bag bangs on his side, he swears silently. _If I lay my hands on that bastard McAlister..._ The news that he received last night, that the police weren’t able to find anything about Moran, wasn’t helping his mood _. I need to know if he’s working alone, maybe I could interview McAlister myself?_ The student, who was arrested by Lestrade the day before, wasn’t talking. Or, more probable, wasn’t aware of anything. He recognized Moran’s picture but wasn’t able to name the man or to say who was really in charge and who was making the drug.

He turns on the street corner of the facility where his next class is, when a high pitch voice stops his analyse of the situation.

“Willlllllliam! Are you all right?” It was Lucy, she spins around the detective, assessing his condition, “O-M-G! Are you hurt! When the fight started, I was so afraid that I wasn’t able to do a thing except calling the cops! Alan wanted to jump in the melee, but it was over so quickly!” Getting a grip on Sherlock’s bag, she says as she transfers it to her shoulder, “give me that! You must take care of yourself! Are you sure you’re fit to go to class?”

Sherlock smiles at her constant babbling, “of course I am, you don’t need to –“ but his protestations were cut short by Alan stepping near them after jumping out of his bus.

“William! Should you be here already?” He promptly kisses his girlfriend before taking Sherlock’s computer bag from her hands, “I’ll take care of this, we’re together for the next hours, Will and I.” Wiggling his eyebrows, he winks. “It’s Doctor Watttttson’s class, your saviour!”

Placing her hands on her heart, Lucy sights theatrically, “It was so heroic of him!”

“Even if he was drunk,” Alan smirks as his girlfriend smacks him playfully on the arm.

“Stop it, the two of you!” turning red at the attention and the innuendos about Watson, Sherlock didn’t know how to react. Being the centre of the attention like that, by people who – for whatever reason! – actually seemed to like him felt weird. He is trying to find a way to stop Lucy’s cooing when Marcy joins in the discussion, hugging Sherlock out of the blue. _Are they having a party on front of the building! God give me patience!_

“Oh dear! I was so afraid!!! That bastard McAlister! I don’t understand how it is possible that he’s still at Kings, he’s such a troublemaker!” The young woman makes honeyed eyes at Sherlock, clearly enamoured with the man but her tentative flirtation is cut short by Lucy’s indignation.

“Yes, after that thing two years ago... You would have thought that they were able to monitor students about to do crazy things better!”

Curious, Sherlocks asks as they walk toward the door, “what happened?”

Marcy, who is now silently fighting with Alan to get the detective’s bag, explained. “It was before our time, but it was the talk of the campus then! A student, Max Smith, was found dead in the Chemistry lab.”

Looking around her to be sure that no one was listening, Lucy murmurs, “It was after the exams, Smith – who used to be a model student with A+ in everything – had an E in is Chemistry’s final.”

“Really sad story,” Alan continues, “he lost his grant and everything. A week later, he killed himself and --”

“But...” Marcy interrupts, placing a hand on Sherlock’s arm, “maybe it wasn’t a suicide after all!”

“What?” _I need to look at that story, maybe there’s a link –_

“The students who found him said that he looked like the poor sods who are dying from that drug recently, you know THE drug? Can’t remember the name, A/K or something –”

“O/B.” Sherlock replies without thinking. _Is it be possible? The drug arrived in the street only a year or so ago._

“Yes! That’s the name!” After another quick peck on her boyfriend’s lips, Lucy waves to William and pushes Marcy in direction of their class and for a little girl-talk!

 

Eyes closed, John is pondering the discussion he had with his boss an hour ago. Instead of  being threatened of losing his job, the director simply warned him about going out in places where the students are going. The innuendo was clear, he must stay away from William. The most important thing for now was that he wasn’t dismissed! _I need to be here if I want to find something, I can’t be sent away! And I like my job..._ He knew that his desire to stay at King’s was definitely linked to a beautiful tall young man, but he couldn’t think about that for now.  

Lost in his thoughts, John never realizes that students were flooding his classroom. The murmurs, the questioning look, the giggles from the female students... all that stops when Sherlock enters the room and drops into his usual place, Alan in tow. The silence persists as minute went by, the students eagerly waiting for Watson to say a thing, for William to exchange a heated gaze with the older man, for anything! As their teacher remains unaware of them, a young man on the first row clears his voice. “Sir? Are you all right? It’s five past ten and...”

“Oh, sorry!” John raises his head quickly, turning to the screen to realize that he hadn’t even set  up his computer. _Shit._ Not acknowledging the return of the excited buzz, he quickly set up his session and, getting a grip on his emotions, he finally starts his lesson.   

 

Not letting the disturbing presence of the sexy doctor – who looks a bit lost that morning poor thing – unsettle him, Sherlock opens his laptop to check the story about the suicide of that student. His friends are right, it was the talk of the campus three years ago! The young prodigy, the award winning awkward young man, killed himself in the middle of a Chemistry lab – now decommissioned - to be found by one of his teachers. Looking around, reading all the available articles, a name pops up many times but always unofficially. Discreetly taking his phone in hand, he quickly sends a text to Lestrade. Half an hour later, a predatory smile appears on his lips as he read the DI’s response.

> The teacher who found that student, Max Smith, 3 years ago is Professor Holt. GL
> 
> And yes, Molly read over the autopsy report and it’s a match to all the kids who died from that shit. GL
> 
> Don’t understand... be careful, would you? Don’t go barging in on Holt and fucked it up! GL

_Oh... yes finally. Something, what are the odds that a really competent Chemistry student died from a drug that hit the market two years later._ His fingers dancing over his keyboard, he starts to investigate Smith’s life. The amount of data proving his genius was staggering, excellent grades, perfect research, works published in serious journals while he was going for his post-doc... His family background, regular folks without any serious education or money, was the reason why he received grants over grants to pay for his university. _The amount of pressure on him would have been enormous._ _Enough to create a drug? Enough to risk going to prison or worse?_

He was hacking inside Smith’s personal email account, _people are so careless_ , when a presence in front of him, as well as the silence around him, were finally enough to break him from his nearby trance state. The class was empty, beside him and Watson who was now sitting on the desk in front of Sherlock’s. Waiting for the young man’s attention.

“Oh, you’re back!” He grins, “I was wondering if I would have to turn off your computer to get your attention.”

Surprised and a bit lost, the detective sputters “Where’s everybody?”

“That class was dismissed 20 minutes ago...” The other students had tried in vain to get William’s attention, wanting to gossip about the fight, about Doctor Watson, but it was to no avail. He remained undisturbed, so they slowly left the class to go on with their day. Even Alan, late for a meeting with his tutor, had to leave his new friend behind. “The next session is after lunch, don’t worry you can stay here if you want.”

After a pause, when Sherlock closed the numerous tabs and files opened on his computer, they both talk at the same time.

“We shouldn’t talk!”

Laughing, Watson nods. “Yes, we’re right... we shouldn’t... it’s unwise to do so.” His boss’ warnings were flowing around him, but it was so hard with William right in front of him.

“Yes, very unwise...” Sherlock murmurs, knowing that it was in fact really _truly and definitively_ unwise. “Do you want to go for a coffee?”


	15. Later that day...

Looking at his mirror, John shakes his head at his own reflection. _You, old man, are crazy!_  He was still flustered at the idea that he accepted William proposition.   _I’m the teacher, he’s the student. I’m supposed to be the reasonable one in that equation!_  He was unable to stay away, the only things he has accomplished in the last days was to think about him, then reprimand himself because he was thinking about him! The discussion with his boss, the tone of William’s brother when he asked him to leave his brother alone. _I’ve made a promise to find who’s responsible for Paul’s death, I can’t jeopardize my place at Kings because of a fling._ But he knew that it was more than that. So much more than that. Opening his closet, he sighs at his limited options. _At least, William is always dressed simply, in jeans and t-shirt._

John is finally leaving his place and ready to call a cab when a posh black car stops in front of him. A beautiful woman, unknown to him, opens the door and motion him to get inside. _What?_ He knows that he was nicely dressed – a whole hour just to fussed over his hair! – but not **that** spectacular that a sexy woman is going to stop her car! “Get in, Doctor Watson,” with a light smile she continues, “don’t worry, nothing is going to happen to you.”

He is about to simply walk away when his phone vibrated, thinking that it was William, he grabs it quickly.

> Look at your right, Doctor Watson, third floor of the building across the street. A CCTV camera.

John, unable to stop himself, turns to look at the building and quickly spots the camera, which turns slowly to point in his direction. _What the Hell!_

> And at your left now, on the lamppost.
> 
> Understand? Now, get in the car.

Knowing that it was futile to resist, _who can control the bloody CCTV?_ , John gets in the car without a word.

 

_A few kilometres away, at Battersea Station_

“Are you sure about that, Mycroft?” Greg walks nervously, unable to stop. “It’s kind of... illegal.” As Sherlock’s brother silently laugh, he continues, “Nooooo, let me be CLEAR, it’s really illegal! You may kidnap spies or whatever thing that you do I don’t want to know, but John Watson is an English citizen, an Army veteran –”

Shaking his head, Holmes light-heartedly interrupts the policeman, “he was on your suspect list for days –”

“He is no more!” the DI argues with force, feeling guilty about the whole affair. _Even if his role in all this mess is still unclear!_

“You still have doubts as to why he was in that cupboard, Gregory, perhaps you’re going to learn something more shortly.” Smiling innocently at the older man, he adds, “It’s in the Met’s interest to know more.”

Snorting as if Mycroft had told a good joke, the detective locks his eyes on him and utters slowly “it’s just an elaborate version of _don’t mess with his heart or I’m going to kill you_. The main difference is that you've got the power to actually do so.“ As the powerful man remains silent, he continues, talking softly in his ear. “Don’t try to trick me, Mycroft Holmes, you are soft-hearted.”

The government man is about to retort when a text from Anthea confirming that they were minutes away, stops him. “Time to go away Gregory, stay behind that wall over there and do not intervene... I don’t want you to be an official part of all that, you’ve got too much to lose.”

“Okay, but this conversion is not over...” After a quick pat on Mycroft’s back, he walks quickly in the direction of a nearby wall. _The things I’ve got to deal with it!_

Standing tall, his hand on the handle of his umbrella, Mycroft waits for Doctor John H. Watson.

 

As the car turns into Battersea Station, John rolls his eyes at the theatricality of the setup. He knew the possibility that he could be kidnapped by the drug dealers was high, but he wasn’t that worried. _Am I in a Bond movie or in a Doctor Who episode? Maybe I’m going to finally learn something!_ As the car halts inside the old building, Anthea (John was calling her The Bond Girl in his head) opens the door.

“He’s waiting for you, doctor.”

Frowning, he was a bit tired to be in the dark, John asks “who?”

A posh voice resonates in the open space. “Get out, Doctor Watson, I don’t have all day.”

Turning a bit to check his surroundings, John sighs as he sees William’s brother and steps out of the car, shaking his head. _Bloody nosy man!_ “What do you want? Is something wrong with William?”

“No, nothing wrong with my little brother, Doctor, except the usual stubbornness, of course.” Mycroft small grin shows his affection for the younger man, “I only want a discussion with you, nothing to worry about.”

John’s exasperation quickly rises now that he knows that the ‘kidnapper’ wasn’t a drug dealer and that his life isn’t in any danger. _Or maybe he is a drug dealer!_ He clears his throat and asks quietly, “A discussion about?”

“My brother, of course.,” Mycroft replies with the posh tone he likes to use in such circumstances. “I seriously don’t think that we have anything else in common.” After a pause, he chuckles “and no, I am not dealing drugs.”

The doctor turns swiftly as a laugh echoes from behind a nearby wall. _He’s not alone!_ “Why? What do you want to talk to me about…? There’s nothing to say.”

“I suggested that you stay away from my brother and, on the first day he’s back in your class, you have a... date?” Mycroft was seriously unsettled by the fact that his brother was openly interested in someone _._ Sarcastically, he adds, “might we expect a happy announcement soon? Are you going to move in together?”

“That, Sir, is none of your business,” John was fuming! “He’s an adult, a bit younger than me maybe, but nothing unlawful or unnatural—”

“You are an authority figure –”

Watson laughs loudly. “Do you know your brother at all, Sir? Even you don’t have authority over him, I guess!” Again, a light chuckle, quickly muffled, echoes in the otherwise deserted building. _Okay, I’m definitely not alone in thinking that it’s bollocks!_

Annoyed at Greg’s lack of control, Mycroft hand tightens on his umbrella. “So, I guess I won’t be able to convince you not to go to your little _rendez-vous_ you have planned for Angelo’s?”

“You can try if you want.” John, arms crossed, waits patiently. “Might want to speak a bit faster, though, I don’t want to be late.”

“I,” he pauses and murmurs, knowing that it was definitely a bit not good to make the suggestion, “I can offer you a substantial amount of money --“

“To stop seeing him, NO!”

“Or to tell me what’s going on with him if you can’t... stop yourself,” Mycroft mutters, hoping that Gregory isn’t able to hear what he is saying.

“No, I don’t want your money.” _Is the man real? What a cold bastard!_ “Is that all?”

Lifting his head, Holmes narrows his eyes at the shorter man. “You don’t look impressed, Doctor Watson,”

“You aren’t that impressive; can I go now? Or do I have to pass a test with your parents also?”

“No, I don’t think you’re ready for Mummy,” Mycroft sniggers before cocking his head, “but...”

“Yes?”

“Please do be careful with his heart." The pompous man was looking so fragile, that John's guts twist a little as he nods, "One thing more, what were you doing in that closet, Doctor Watson? I’m curious.”

“The same thing as your brother, Sir, I was relaxing at the end of a hard day.” Turning on his heel, he walks back to the car and with a nod to Anthea he instructs, “Angelo’s, Northumberland Street. Thanks.”

 

As the car drives away silently away from the old industrial building, Lestrade walks out from behind the wall, a smirk on his face. “Oh God, I really _really_ want Doctor Watson to become your brother in law.”

Offering him a disgusted look, Holmes mutters, “and now we have to wait for the bloody car to come back,” turning away as Gregory laughs until his sides hurt and tears stream down his face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new take on Mycroft and John first meeting in SiP:-)
> 
> Love the idea of a real friendship between Greg and Mycroft.


	16. At Angelo's

_What am I doing here...? It’s ridiculous_ . Sherlock, alone in a corner table at Angelo’s is waiting for John, second-guessing the moment of craziness he had earlier. _It was irrational to asked him out like that!_ Slowly drinking his water – he wasn’t stupid enough to drink wine – he tries to calm himself, unable to understand his behaviour. He wasn’t by nature a flirt, he never seduces anybody unless it is necessary for a case. The fact that he spontaneously invited John when he knows that he’s not guilty of anything (without proof but now it’s not the moment to be too specific) was completely out of his character and he was panicking!   _It’s that damn soldier kink! I am not a horny teenager, I need to get him out of my head if I want to be able to concentrate on the case._ The fact that asking the man out was _exactly_ the opposite of pushing away wasn’t lost to him.

Angelo is suddenly there at his side, babbling away. “Sherlock! My friend, my saviour, I’m so please! Anything that you want!” Eying his glass, he glares theatrically, “pfff!!! Water, let me get you wine, I’ve got a nice –“

Finally able to get the over-eager restaurateur/former criminal’s attention, the detective shakes his head, “no, Angelo, not wine, maybe later.  I’m waiting for someone and anyway I should probably go and –“

“Oh... I see,” the big man pats his young friend hand, winking, “A bit nervous, yes, yes, I’ll get you a beautiful Chianti and a nice candle or two, more romantic –”

“No, no, Angelo, listen to me!” _God, I should have set the meeting at another place,_ “I’m undercover right now, for a case, you know, so tonight you don’t know me, okay? Don’t call me Sherlock!”

“Okay, Sherlock, anything that you want, let me get that candle for you and your date!”

Knowing that it was useless to try to tamp Angelo’s enthusiasm, he closes his eyes trying to refocus on his work.

 

 

Not paying attention to the whereabouts of the people around him in the busy establishment, he thinks about what he learned today. First, a young brilliant Chemistry student apparently committed suicide two years ago with what he now knows is a drug that hit the streets only in the last year. _How did he get the drug? Is he the chemist who invented it? Is there any link between Holt and that student, besides the fact that he was his teacher?_ His aversion to Professor Holt makes him want the pompous arse to be guilty, but he needs proof! He was nearly there, he knew it! The number of emails that Holt and Smith exchanged was abnormally high, compare with what the other students exchanged with him during the same period. It was apparently innocent, talking about research and so on, except for the high number of emails. _It’s not as if Holt was helping him! Smith was already way more competent than his professor! Too bad I wasn’t able to get my hands on a copy of that exam that he was supposed to have failed so completely..._

The fact that the life of such a brilliant student, curious and eager to learn ended like that was a personal affront to Sherlock. _It was such a loss..._

Unconsciously, the image of the young brilliant outcast, too bright for the other students, finding peace in his work but bullied by some idiots was juxtaposed over his own life. He even found works written by Smith that he sent to other students, but it was not the goal right now... _Time to challenge these bastards will come later._ He wasn’t seeing himself in his place, but the whole affair was so sad. _It could have been me, I nearly died so many times..._ Being an outcast, the constant pressure of being a brilliant student added to the weight of his own particular skill set, his bravado hiding his fragility. All this culminating into the worst year of his life. Using his lab to recreate drugs for his personal use, to be sure of the quality of what he was using, until being high wasn’t enough to dull his mind. Until he went too far. Shivering at the memory of his time in detox, he turns his reflection once more toward Holt’s little prodigy.

The fact that he found no testimony that Smith was a drug user was another argument against the idea of a junkie creating a new drug and dying of an overdose. _And that test, that one disastrous grade that resulted in the loss of his grant, it wasn’t logical. He was a potential genius in the field, he should have passed easily, what if... what if Holt purposely flunked him to put pressure on him? To force him to... Oh.... OH!_

 

 

Jumping out of his chair, Sherlock was putting his coat on when a warm voice stops him.

“I’m certainly not that late, am I?” John smiles, spotting the candles on the table, “and we can’t let those candles go to waste for noting, can we?”  Sherlock, sitting back slowly into his chair, looks at John with an edge of mania in his eyes. “Everything all right? You look… agitated.”

“Everything... everything is okay.”

“You were leaving?” John asks, pointing to his coat.

“Just going out for a cigarette, that’s all.” Sherlock fibs, unable to think of a better excuse.

John wrinkles his nose, “you smoke? That’s not good for you, you know. I’m a boring doctor, I know, but –“

“No, you’re right, it’s not good,” _Better than drugs, but let’s keep that for another conversation._ He was trying to find a safe subject of conversation when he was saved by Angelo. _Thank God for the meddling man!_

“Ohhhhhh, a nice looking fella –” Stopping just before he speaks Sherlock’s name, the older man gives them a menu and another candle (He’s going to burn down the table!), winks again before he disappears into the kitchen.

John smiles, “a friend of yours?”

“No, I don’t know what it’s all about,” Sherlock sighs and decides to cover his lies with a bit of truth. “I come here often, and Angelo is a bit... overprotective.”

“It’s funny that people seem to want to shield you, when I personally think you are able to take care of yourself.” _But I would like to be at your side, to protect you, to take care of you, to learn everything about you..._ The young man was so beautiful in the candlelight. His usual witty t-shirt was upgraded by a smart button-up shirt in deep purple. _He cleaned up really well... As if it wasn’t already too hard to stay away!_ He loses track of the discussion as he imagines the contrast of a snowy torso as he slowly unbuttons the shirt in his mind. Licking his lips, he slightly opens his mouth at the idea of licking the magnificent marble neck, to kiss the sumptuous lips, to – _No!_ He shakes his head, finally aware that William was talking, “Sorry?”

“You said, ‘people’, who are you talking about?” Sherlock repeats annoyingly, thinking over the last weeks, trying to find a time when the doctor may have seen something that he shouldn’t. “Who ‘shielded’ me?”

“Everybody!” John laughs unsure where to start. “That detective, he chided you when we were at Scotland Yard, but it was affectionate, protective.” He pauses a second then continues, “your friend Alan. I’ve never seen him interact with anyone in my class and suddenly he’s your friend and won’t allow anyone to speak a bad word against you, the people at the pub they were all rooting for you” smiling at Angelo who is pouring wine in their glasses without asking, he nods at the man discreetly mouthing, ‘him’, “and your brother, of course.”

Sherlock chokes on his first sip of wine, “MY BROTHER!”

“Yes,” satisfied that William’s attention was now completely back on him, John waits a few seconds before he continues, “we... talked.”

Rolling his eyes at his brother’s actions, a shiver of shame rushes down Sherlock's spine. “Don’t tell me he kidnapped you?” As John remains silent, with only a ghost of a smile on his lips, the young man grabs his phone.  A moment later he places it on the table with an air of smugness.

Knowing exactly what the younger man did, John chuckles. The idea of the mighty mystery man receiving a dressing down from his younger brother is particularly... charming. _I can’t blame his overbearing brother, I would do anything to protect him if it was my duty to do so._ “Have you sent a text to your brother?”

“No, better,” Sherlock grabs his glass and toasts John with a mischievous smirk, “to our mother!”

 

 

The evening went well. Brilliantly. Unexpected.

Both a bit on their guard at the beginning, they are more relaxed now. The wine, the food, the dessert, the candles, everything is working to push them in uncharted territory.  They talk about everything, even as they both take care to avoid the carefully constructed lies.. John distracts Sherlock by his adventures in the army or from his years as a med student. The havoc his rugby team created every local they went to! Retelling stupid jokes that occurred after the 12th hour on duty or following a close called in Afghanistan.  A warmth spreads in John’s heart every time his companion smiles or laughs, when his incomparable eyes glisten in amusement. He was storing everything away, knowing instinctively that it was a privilege, that it wasn’t common for the student to be so open, so carefree.  Proud to be the one that _William_ chose to open to, the doctor even talked more seriously about the attack on his battalion, his wounded shoulder, the loss of friends. He never felt diminished in front of the fit and unmarred younger man. “I shouldn’t talk about this, it’s a bit of a mood killer. You are so young,” The doctor chokes a bit on the last word, _God what I am doing here!_ “I shouldn’t burden you with -”

Sherlock lifts his hand to stop John. He had known about John’s military record but having the man in front of you was something else He clears his throat and murmurs. “It’s not a burden. I am honoured that you opened up to me, a stranger, like that.” Considering what was okay to tell John without exposing his cover and put the doctor in danger, a faint smile appears on his beautiful luscious lips. “I have my own scars, you know, even if they are not as visible. My... my years in high school haven’t been as idyllic as yours.”

Cautiously, John asks, “have you been to boarding school?”

Sherlock chuckles as if it were possible for a Holmes to not go to a boarding school, and shrugs, “I was homeschooled until I was twelve, then was sent to a boarding school.” The goal was to help him to socialize but... “The same place my grandfather, my father and my brother attended. But he was already at university when I arrived.”

“You were alone? I’m sure that you were a brilliant kid and –“

“I am not... _normal,_ and young people do not generally like those who stand out too much, attract too much attention.”

John winces at the term ‘normal’, the idea that someone could have been mean to the brilliant man in front of him was unbelievable! “You seem to have a good crowd around you know, you are quite the star in the Chemistry department,” John replies, trying to lighten the mood.

“Yes, it’s better now, I think. Maybe I’m better at all this the second time around,” not wanting for John to elaborate, he quickly starts to talk about his little verbal joust with Holt and his TA, the work he was doing with his new friends, and the time passes again easily.

 

 

Angelo discreetly sent his staff away a few hours later, leaving the cleaning of the dining room for the next morning, when it was obvious Sherlock and John were going to close down the restaurant.  Dimming the light a bit more than usual, he remains in the kitchen, singing a silly romantic song in Italian. _Yes, this John is a nice fella._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to be a bit late on the next chapter, sorry! 
> 
> Only 2 or 3 chapters left :-)
> 
> Morgane


	17. Chemistry class

“But you don’t understand Lestrade, it must be Holt!” Sherlock cries as he walks around Greg’s small office.

“Just sit a second, would you... I need coffee!” He looks at the hyperactive young man and asks, “did you slept at all last night?”

“Me?” He had been too excited and troubled after his evening with John to even think about sleeping! “No, why? I can’t sleep, the game is on!”

“Yes, yes... the game is blah blah...” Greg teases, knowing perfectly well the reason of his friend’s febrility. “Don’t try, I know that you had a hot date with Doctor Watson,” with a stern look, he continues, “I told you to keep –”

“Who told you? You talked to Mycroft!” Turning his attention towards the DI, he smirks.“You’ve talked a lot with my brother recently, something you want to share with me?”

“He’s my friend,” the older man protests, “don’t fuss over nothing. But, your professor –”

“He’s only a lecturer, I’ve told you a thousand times,” the detective replies waving a hand dismissively, “anyway, we need to focus on PROFESSOR Holt right now!”

“You don’t have anything Sherlock...” Greg groans. “ _ Yes _ , it was in his class that poor student failed a test so completely that he lost his grant.  _ Yes _ , it’s in his lab that he committed suicide, using a drug that wasn’t readily available, but otherwise, you’ve got nothing.”

“All this, this is proof!” the detective argues, unable to hide his annoyance. “I haven’t been able to access Holt’s financial records but –”

Greg looks around to see if someone was near his office and murmurs with a severe frown “You already pushed your luck by hacking his emails!”

“You were doing nothing! You ASKED for my help!”

Shaking his head, the DI mutters, “don’t know what I was thinking...” With a sharp move of his arm, he motions Sherlock in direction of the door, “go back to  _ school _ , you’ve got a class in one hour.”

_ As if! I have a lead, I certainly won’t let it go now that I know where to look! _ “You’re not my older brother, Graham, I’ve got one already.”

_ Thank God, I’m not!  _ Thinking about Mycroft’s ‘discussion’ with Watson the day before, Greg silently chuckles as the tall man leaves his office with a theatrical swirl of his coat.  _ Wouldn’t say no to Sherlock being my brother-in-law though. _

 

A few kilometres away, John, in a park near Kings, is waiting for McAllister. Fussing on his phone while lounging on a bench, a cap on his head and sporting a casual coat, he’s the epitome of a normal guy. His desire to hurt the young bastard, as painfully as possible, pushed away for now...  _ He’s going to pay soon enough for what he did to William.  _  For now, he needs to find more and, to do that, he must find out where the next meeting with the big boss is going to be. His informant, a drug addict who John is helping as much as possible, sent him a text that McAllister was going to meet his contact in this park around 11:45...  _ He was right the last time about the meeting in the lab and the pub, hope he’s going to be right this time too! _

The doctor’s mind wanders as his eyes discreetly survey the park, thinking about last night.  _ What a night.. _ . He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so relaxed, so free to say anything he wanted. When they left the restaurant, realising that it was really late and that Angelo’s was now empty, they walked a bit... not knowing how to end such a perfect evening.  Usually, John would have strolled hand in hand until they reach his date’s place and exchanged a passionate kiss under the threshold, waiting to see if she or he was up for more... but with William, it was all new. It was serious, the hope of something heart-shattering wrapped in layers of potential troubles.  _ Seriously crazy, that what’s it is! _ It was too risky to go up to his place, a studio in students’ housing, and the idea of bringing him to his dreary place wasn’t appealing at all.  _ It helped with my resolution to avoid any physical contact for now!  _ But the dream he had last night... His cheeks turn hot as he remembers the details. The painfully  _ precise _ details. He was subtly repositioning his suddenly tighter pants when he sees McAllister.  _ Finally! All this is going on for too long now, back to business! Where is his associate? _

He didn’t have to wait for long, less than ten minutes later a man passes near the so-called student and, after a discreet motion from them hand to follow him, they both walk in the direction of a bench few meters away. Getting up as naturally as possible, John walks in direction of a little path that leads near the place where the men are talking. Trying to listen, he never realised that someone has been sneaking on him.

 

Sherlock, taking the opportunity of Holt being in his classroom, enters his office using the master key he ‘borrows’ at the secretary’s desk. Closing the door silently, he smirks at the idea of finally being able to put down the arrogant man.  _ He’s going to be an idiot without being challenged this morning, as I’m skipping his class!  _ Swiftly, he scans the documents on his desk, the shelves full of books, until his eyes fall on the filing cabinet.  _ Here you go, Smith’s exams and papers should be there!  _ The basic lock didn’t resist Sherlock ministrations and a minute or so later he starts to peruse year of students’ files.  _ It should be there, somewhere... Ha!  _ Finally getting his hands on Smith’s folder, he hesitates a second between getting out of the room with the files or not (Lestrade’s voice in his head screamed ‘NO!’) but decides to read and take pictures of everything suspicious instead.

The student’s work was outstanding! _God, the man was a genius..._ The detective, knowing what he was looking for, copies the formulas and results of the young man experiences. _The compounds are similar of the ones in the drug, did he stumble upon it without realizing it?_ The grades were exceptional, top of the class. Until a few weeks before his death. _An E, how is it possible? On an exam that worth 40% of the grade. No wonder he was devastated... but enough to killed himself?_ Looking back at the test and papers, something keeps bothering him. _It’s not the stress of a test, his lab results which are made under supervision, are all excellent._ _So, it’s not that he was faking it... He was truly a genius._ Holding the test in front of the light, he tries to see if the text has been tampered with. _Oh! Here it is!_ A quick look wasn’t showing anything strange, but it was there. A little bit of text erased, a zero changed for a 10, an I changed for an L... So little, but enormous at the same time.  As time was going away quickly, he promptly took pictures of the document with emphasis on the places with modifications before getting out of Holt’s office.

Taking out his phone as he rushes out of the Chemistry department, he quickly texts Lestrade and headed to the front of Holt auditorium to waits for the end of the class.  _ Time to confront the bastard! _

 

An hour later, after the authorization to interrogate Holt and obtain the content of the young Chemistry student’s file was finally (officially) granted, Lestrade asks the professor to discreetly follow them to the Met.

“It’s ridiculous,” Sherlock shouts at the mirror of the interrogation room. “He’s lying!”

“Sherlock, I don’t think he knows anything...”  In fact, Holt looks horrible. His cocky persona disappeared as soon as he realised that he was in trouble. “The only thing he said in the last hour is that he doesn’t know why we are talking about drugs!”

Holmes is about to protest that it was bullshit when the despaired professor screams, “I don’t know! I smoked when I’m at my summer house, otherwise, I have never...” his voice broke, tears showing up at the corner of his eyes, “I don’t understand, I have never done anything wrong, a few tickets maybe.”  He sobs as Donovan turns to mouths ‘help me here!’ to Lestrade in the mirror, “I’m not even a good Chemist, I found one thing in my whole life and it was by luck. I shouldn’t be a professor.”

“A pathetic man, Sherlock,” the DI mocks the younger man, “but a criminal mastermind?”

“OKAY!!” the detective admits, “let him go... but give me the files. I’m missing something.”

The suddenly older professor is still murmuring, his head on his hands. “And I don’t have money, just my salary, the convertible was a little folly but... Oh my God, am I going to lose my job? Don’t tell them about what I said about my research please –“  he is interrupted by Donovan’s announcement that he is free to go but to remain in London.

Alone, Sherlock pushes away the echoes of the man lamentations to concentrate on the problem in hand.  _ If it’s not Holt, then who?   _ Looking back at Smith’s lab sheets, research and that horrible test without finding anything, his mind reveals at the idea that the poser admitted that he was a fraud and shouldn’t be a professor!  _ To think that people like Doctor Watson are only lecturers when –  _ His thoughts stop as he finally gets it! Rushing out of the office, he runs around trying to find Lestrade before simply heading for the door.  _ I will text him later. _

 

He is about to jump in a cab when a hand stops him and the cold muzzle of a small gun presses in the middle of his back. “Sorry, Sir, you are going with us.”

Waving the cab away with an apology, Sherlock asks with a defiant tone, “us?”

“Yes, the boss is waiting for you.”  

_Finally!_  


	18. A tales of two officers

_Uhhhhh..._ John is trying to slowly lift his head without success. _A concussion probably, someone hit me from behind._ Opening his eyes slightly he moans silently as he realizes that he is blindfolded. Surveying his body for pain, he is relieved to feel that, except for the straining of the handcuffs behind his back and a rope of some sort around his ankles, he is uninjured. _So except the strong knock on the back of my head, nothing too bad. That’s a relief!_ He is attached to a cold surface, concrete if he can trust the feeling under his feet. Trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible, he starts to pay attention to the voices around him as a few people are talking ten or twelve meters from him.

The argument is heated! He recognizes the voice of McAllister but the second one is unknown to him. _Is it someone important, finally?_

“I am not a child!” McAllister argues, his petulant tone effectively contradicting everything he is saying at the moment.

“You were talking about the drugs, about the deal, in a park!” The other voice replies with authority, “totally unaware of that teacher behind you!”

“He’s not a teacher –“ a third voice tries to object before the man smacks him, the sound resonates in the empty room.

“Shut up! I don’t fucking care and – ”, the noise of a door opening stopped what was certainly going to be a harsh talk down as another man enters the room. “WHAT!”

“Colonel,” the new voice says at John’s surprise, “the boss asked me to give you someone for keep.” He chuckles as the noise of someone being drags nearby echoes in the room, “where do you want the package? It’s a special guest, as you know, don’t think he wants him on the cold floor of the warehouse.”

“Is he passed out?” The man that looks in command asks, the ‘Colonel’ as John was calling him in his head, “does he needs care?”

“No, he’s just drugged with a light sedative,” the thug replies.

“Put him in my office, on my cot,” after a second or two he adds, “but handcuff him. Both hands and feet separately... you never know with that bloody man.”

“Okay, boss.”

As the door closes behind the guard and his prisoner, McAlister probes, “who was that?”

First muttering something about “the boss’ bloody little pet project,” the man finally replies that it wasn’t his business before walking impatiently in John’s direction. “Wakey-wakey doctor,” he tears the blindfold away in one harsh move “Time to talk!”

Blinking his eyes for show, John waits a few seconds before he actually turns toward the man in front of him. He was a strong looking man, a few inches taller than himself. His short hair, his posture, the look on his face, everything screams military to John. His voice hoarse from disuse and thirst, he articulates with an indignant tone “What’s going on? Is this a prank?”

“Oh no... Doctor Watson, it’s not a prank.”

“How do you know my name!”

Not saying that he was aware of who he is because of the other men, McAllister and his acolyte strategically out of Watson’s sight for now, Moran rapidly squats and slaps John hard. “I’M THE ONE WHO’S ASKING QUESTIONS!” Holding his phone, he starts reading, not caring a bit about the drop of blood pooling at the corner of John’s mouth. “Doctor John H. Watson, Captain in the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers, Afghanistan,” lifting his head with a smirk, the criminal looks at John with mock admiration. “Blimey, doctor, quite an exciting life! Are you sure being a wannabe teacher is enough for you?” As John rolls his eyes at the theatrical, the gun to hire rises straight as he crosses his arms and adds, “don’t know if I want to kill or recruit you!”

Choosing to continue the charade, John spits out angrily, “recruiting me for what? Who are you? What do you want from me!”

“Tut, tut, tut, Doctor Watson, temper,” the ex-military chides playfully, pondering his options.  “First thing first, what were you doing spying like that in the park.”

“Wasn’t... spying,” John reluctantly spits his bloodied saliva, “a park is a public –” The second blow didn’t come as much as a surprise as the first, but the kick in his ribs hurt like a bitch.

“Truth, Captain, I need the truth...” Sebastian says, “I have all the time in the world.”

"It looked… weird… seeing him plotting in a bench near Kings after what happened...." Turning his head in the direction of where McAlister's voice was coming earlier, he adds, “You know that your _associate_ harmed severely one of my... students?”

Not acknowledging John, Moran walks a bit further away, leaving the doctor alone.

 

He was lighting a cigarette when his phone emits a light buzz, looking at the screen as he turns to face his prisoner, he lets go a dark laugh that chilled John to the bone. “Oh, poor man, you’re also a friend to one of those junkies... Or more precisely, you **were** a friend as the stupid shit killed himself –”

Unable to remains calm, John shouts “YOU KILLED HIM!” _How the Hell did he find that out? Even the police didn’t realize!_

Coming back after he walked away a bit to get a chair, the ex-soldier sits in front of John. “Sorry, doctor, did I hit a nerve?” Placing his phone on the floor at the right of his chair, he moves closer to  John with purpose. “It’s the only proof we need, you were spying on us, trying to be the avenger for his wife or his mother... or maybe you were in love with him, I won’t judge, but you went too far, mate and now you know us so –”

“You’re a bastard, a criminal and a disgrace to the military, COLONEL.”  

Moran darkens at the insults. “Her Majesty Army is often a disgrace to her men! Enough chit-chat, sorry to say that but I think I –”

“Sir!”, the door where the bodyguards disappeared was now open. “He’s awake, what do you want us to do?” He frowns before adding, “he’s kind of driving us crazy and I had to stop Bob from knocking him up silent. Twice.”

Shaking his head, he moves his chair away from John and taps on it playfully. “Bring him here, Jake, I want to see first-hand what all the fuss is about.” _If Jim is right, this is going to be interesting... Or maybe it’s better if Watson doesn’t know about his dear ‘William’. “_ No, I’ve changed my mind, I’m going to talk to him in the other room.”

 

 

_An hour before..._

Sherlock is sitting in the back of a car, the blackened windows hiding the route they were taking _. How many turns since we left the Yard, 10, 15?_ He isn’t that worried, knowing that Mycroft is never far – _the posh-git has his uses_ – but he was curious. _Where am I going? To meet the boss of this little gang?_ The generic upscaled bodyguard look of the man who ‘asked’ him to jump in the car, the good quality shackles that hold him in place by tightening the detective to a bolt in the back of the seat ( _really neat, wonder if Mycroft has something similar in his own sedan?_ ), the silent chauffeur... all this is the testimony of money and professionalism. _All this_ _for a little_ _drug operation, or am I missing something?_

Losing interest in the outside world, it was impossible to know where they were going anyway, Sherlock turns his focus back to the case. After a second viewing of Smith’s files after Holt meltdown, the solution became clear suddenly,! It wasn’t Holt, but his TA... it was Appleton. The text he had sent to Lestrade right before he left asked for a thorough review of the young man finances and his links with McAllister. _It can only be him. The writing on the exam isn’t Holt, he only signs the corrections to confirm that everything is okay, the work is done by the TA._ He already knows, following his few encounters with the disagreeable man, that he was as pompous as his professor but with an edge of viciousness. _Yes, I can imagine him pushing someone to suicide, for revenge or for gain. He’s not bright enough to come up with a good drug recipe, but he’s certainly disgusting enough to coerce someone into doing it for him._

His thoughts were interrupted when the car slows down near the curb. The chauffeur promptly runs out of the car to open the door to a new passenger.

Sitting taller, Sherlock lets his eyes survey the man in front of him. He is well dressed, hair slicked carefully with just enough product, a slight smile on his lips as if he knew that the detective is observing him… and is loving it! Extending his legs in a relaxed pause, he chuckles softly as if the situation was a daily occurrence. _He does like to be on display,_ the young man thinks – to his dismay - that he suddenly sorely misses his usual suit. For the first time since the beginning of the case, he is feeling unprotected without his usual armour of wool and silk.   _This is ridiculous, I don’t need a Spencer Hart’s suit to be better than that scum!_ “Who are you?”

“How banal, this is really your first question?” The deception is clearly audible in the lightly Irish accented voice. Shaking his head, the man caresses the leather seat, “you don’t want to know about the drugs?”

“I don’t want to know about the drugs, I want to stop it.”

Laughing softly, nearly lovingly, the criminal drops his smile mockingly, “But Sherlock, it was a gift... I know that you love a good drug!”

A bit shaken, the detective is only able to utter “What?” _He knows who I am! About... about the drugs?_

“Don’t be dull, I’m a great fan of yours! I know everything!” is nose wrinkles in distaste, “hate that hair colour, really awful.” As the car gently comes to a stop, the well-groomed man nods to his bodyguard who is now holding a syringe and mutters sadly, “don’t have a lot of time, so sorry my dear, next time…”

Panicking at the idea of being drugged with the addictive Bliss and Oblivion, Sherlock tries to push the strong man away but with both hands tied and heavy harm immobilizing his legs it is nearly impossible! He winces as the needle enters his bicep, feeling the fog overtake his senses nearly instantly.

Waving his man away, the sleek criminal prowls on the other seat to sit near the detective and murmurs, “so sorry my pet, won’t be able to talk to you now, I’ve got to go to work... Five minutes it's not enough...”, as his prisoner tries to talk, he carefully places a finger on his mouth, “shhhhh, don’t worry, it’s only a sedative. Don’t want to destroy your great mind! I’m surrounded by idiots, I won’t risk it!” Holmes, now unable to move or talk, is quickly sinking further away into oblivion as two men drag him inside the building.   

 

Later, a bang on the metal bed frame is enough to chase any remnant of the sedative. His head pounding because of the drug and the loud noise, Sherlock looks at the man in front of him. _It’s the man from the pub, McAllister's contact! I’m on the right path now, just need to connect the last dots..._

“So....” Moran says as he sits in a nearby chair, happy for the leverage against Watson, “are you enjoying your return to uni, Holmes?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I am really far away from Never Been Kissed :-)


	19. No more lies

Sherlock, now fully awake, looks at the man in front of him and confirms at once that the deductions he made after his first glimpse of the man that night at the pub was accurate: He is the well-known gun to hire, if usually quite difficult to locate, Sebastian Moran.  Waiting for the dangerous man to open the hostilities, he remains silent. _I wonder how long it’s going to take for  Lestrade to find me, I mean he’s out of his depth most of the time but he’s not as bad as the rest of the Yard._

“You know who I am Holmes, don’t play dumb,” Moran says, as he pulls out another cigarette.

“Everyone of importance knows that you are a great” he stops as Sebastian raises an eyebrow, “... the best sniper, Moran.” Sherlock argues while shaking his head as the criminal offers him a cigarette, “you’ve been quite discreet over the last two years, did someone get you on a leash?”  

“Don’t fish for information, Holmes, I know you’ve met... the boss.” The slight hesitation was clearly audible.  

“Sorry to say that he didn’t tell me his name,” the detective turns toward his left than right hand frowning at the handcuffs that still restrained his hands and feet. “Is this really necessary?”

“Yes,” Moran chuckles, “I think it is.” After a moment while he sits without even looking at his prisoner, he asks, “what did you two chat about?”

“Hmmm?” _Is it only me or is Moran a bit possessive_? “What are you talking about?”

“The boss,” the ex-military utters calmly without being able to completely hide his impatience, “in the car, the subject of discussion.”

“We spent five minutes together, and the last two I was drugged.” Sherlock smiles sardonically, “don’t think we have a special relationship yet but, you know, it’s a work in progress.”

Angry at what he considers a disrespectful tone and the sexual innuendos, the rugged man nearly loses his temper when he remembers that he had a wild card. “Already tired of you little doctor, Holmes?” Playing innocence, Sherlock cocks his head interrogatively.  “You know, we investigated the dear captain and –“

 _How does he..._ “Don’t you dare touch him?”

“No, no, it won’t be necessary. Don’t worry. It’s so sad, poor man, so pathetic that story of how his soldier boyfriend died of an overdose...” He knows he is fibbing, _it was probably a friendship of some sort nothing more_ , but the look on Holmes’ face was priceless. “Have you told him the fact that you’re a drug addict as well?”

Sherlock is still trying to find a way to come back - if the thought of his John with another man is repulsive, the idea that he may one day be aware of his not so pristine past is even worse – when one of the guards rushing inside the room stops his chain of thoughts.

“Colonel! Got to go! The police are on there way.”

Moran, calm and composed, nods and turns towards his boss little project, _I certainly won’t help him to get in my way._ “Have fun, Holmes, I’m kind of sorry that I won’t be there when they arrive.” He smirks, “a bit sad that I won’t be able to see your humiliation when your good friends from the Met are going to find you trussed to a bed like a little bitch.”   He promptly put his things and paper in a bag, “and don’t worry about the drugs. The fun is over, and it’s served its cause. It’s over.”

“This is not over, Moran! What’s the name of your boss!” Sherlock shouts as the man places a gag over his mouth before he exits the room.

 

Lestrade barges into the abandoned hangar less than five minutes later, a bunch of armed special ops with him. McAlister and Appleton still in a corner, playing cards, were easily captured. Left-over of the game Moran and his boss played for the last months.  Spotting Watson in a corner, the DI motions Sally in his direction while the others search for Sherlock.

“Watson, what are you doing here?” Donovan surveys the doctor quickly, wincing at the blood on his face and the evident proof of many kicks in the ribs. “Are you able to stand? Oh! Yes, your hands behind your back aren’t helping, let me help you.” She efficiently removes the handcuffs, a generic model, and unties his leg before holding out a hand. “Come on, sit on the chair, you’ll start to feel better soon. Medic should be there in –”

“Don’t need one,” his breath was labored, the pain of his possibly broken ribs kicking in as he moves to the chair, “I’m okay.”

“Don’t be daft, doctor.” Pointing at McAlister and Appleton, she asks, “know the other guy?”

“No, maybe a TA or a post-doc student at Kings. Face is a bit familiar, nothing more.”  Suddenly thinking about the other prisoner, he point a door far away in a corner, “they have someone else in a –”

He was interrupted by a furious Sherlock and a laughing Lestrade. “This is so funny, don’t worry, I’ve taken plenty of snaps... Just wait til your brother –”

“IF YOU SHOW THAT THOSE MYCROFT, I’M GOING TO MURDER YOU!”

“No, you won’t, you know you love me.” They walk to the other side where the criminals were waiting for transport. “Ah! You were right, mate, it was Appleton and not Holt.”

Appleton looks at Sherlock with horror, pulling on his handcuffed hands to get away from the policeman holding him, “You, you.... you worked with the police? You BASTARD!”

Unaware of John’s amazement that the other man was William and his relief that he looks unarmed, Sherlock rolls his eyes at the DI. “Of course, I was right.” Observing the wannabe drug dealers, he frowns in disgust. “Yes, I am working with the police, you idiots.” His tone was vindictive, the personal tool of the whole affair rushing on him at once. “God, it was so rough sometimes to control my desire to just shovel you on the floor and arrest you for stupidity.” Shaking his head at the idiocy of the man, “I think England is far from getting another Chemistry Nobel Prize as long as idiots like Holt and you have the right to be near students!” He chuckles, thinking about the classes he followed in the last few weeks, “it’s ridiculous how ANYBODY can work in education nowadays.”

McAlister, still angry about the way Sherlock turned him down twice, spits loudly enough for John to hear, “and what was the plan for Watson? He was only a pawn to get info from?”

 

John looks away in the direction of the DI and Sherlock. He is about to smile at the large gestures and the vivacity of the explanations the young man is giving. _He’s too curious for his own good, did he follow me? He’s going to get into trouble if he doesn’t stop that. Thank God they didn’t touch him!_

“I seriously hope that the boss took some pictures, if he was gagged, I may even put it as my screensaver!” Sally chortles, motioning the medic towards John.

“Don’t talk like that about him!” The doctor protests, “it’s not right! Okay he likes to put his nose where he shouldn’t but it’s only enthusiasm! Remember how you were at his age and –"

“You really didn’t know...” Sally chuckles, looking at John in amazement. “He worked undercover for us, silly man, how stupid you must feel right now! He changed his look, colored his hair and everything.” Her attitude switches to pity when she saw the hurt in John’s face. “You know, he doesn’t deserve any... feelings you may have for him. He’s a bloody psychopath.”  The pregnant silence that falls between them was cut short by McAlister angry growl.

_“He was only a pawn to get info?”_

A loved voice, the object of John’s many dreams, resonate in the open space, “of course, you idiot, what do you think it was, love? dates? As if!”

Anger instantly replaces John’s overwhelming feeling of incomprehension and doubt. _I’ve been played, like a schoolboy._ _To say that I lost sleep because of that... that infatuation, yes she’s right, I really was stupid._ Rising from the chair slowly, he looks away from the young woman not wanting to see the look of sympathy in her eyes. “I’m okay, I don’t need medical attention after all. You know where to find me officer, if you have any questions.”

Turning his back on the commotion he walks out discreetly, not talking to anybody.

Walking back to her boss, Sally is right on time to catch Holmes bullshit (deductions). _Great._

“This is so obvious now! Don’t you see it!” Pointing the TA he explains “this useless waste of a human being, realized while correcting Smith’s paper that he had the potential of a great,” he stops, feeling Lestrade’s eyes on him, “a... strong drugs in his hands. With the help of his mate, McAlister, he decided to commercialize the drug. Only one problem!”

“Smith was too stupid, he didn’t saw the possibility!” Appleton mutters angrily.

“He didn’t want to be a part of it, didn’t want to give the whole recipe,” Sherlock continues, “so that poor excuse of a man decided to cause the academic fall of the young prodigy.” Opening his phone, he shows him screenshots that we was able to get his hands on, “a little anonymous message in the Facebook page of the Chemistry students association about how Smith research wasn’t that original – which was taken down after a day – was enough to convince him to work with you. In academic research, your name is everything.”

“Why the exam then, if the threat to his reputation was enough to get him on board?” Lestrade asks to Sherlock’s annoyance.

“It was way more powerful that he thought...”, the TA murmurs, more subdued now that he knows that everything was discovered. “He was afraid of the risk of overdose and long term consequence for users. He threatened to tell, and to stop producing the drug.”

“So, you find another way, you filthy --” Holmes is about to jump on the man when the DI stops him.

“I told him that if he talked to the cops, I was going to flunk him. I knew that if he failed he was going to lose his grant and his reputation.” Appleton looks away, suddenly ashamed, “never thought that we was going to kill himself! I didn’t kill him!”

“But after his suicide, you changed the test to justify his action.” Sherlock shakes his head as Appleton nods, disappointed for once to be right.

“The car is there,” Lestrade pushes the criminals in direction of the main door. “Keep the rest for the Yard.”

Sherlock, turning around to see if he can find something about Moran destination, shouts “One last thing.”  Appleton and McAlister halt as the policemen stop walking. “Who helped you? You are a bad chemist and a petty criminal... You can’t have pulled this together.  I know about Moran, who’s the real boss? I need a name, anything.”

Rising his shoulder, Appleton replies honestly for once, “don’t know, never heard any name, don’t know how he learned about the drugs. Moran contacted me after Smith’s suicide, we were lost, the formula for a potential fortune on a A4 paper with no idea what to do with it.”

“And a man turned up just like that...” Sherlock murmurs to himself.

“Yes, Moran was the intermediary.” McAlister chuckles before being yanks on the way out, “thank God for consulting criminals.”

Sherlock is still looking around, searching for something when he stumbles on the place where they kept a prisoner. The length of the body, the shoes size, the blond hair he founds where the doctor head touched the ground, everything is saying John. Color drained from his face at the sight of blood drops on the cement. _What did they do to you? Where are you?_ Taking out his phone, he anxiously texts the doctor, hoping for the best.   _I hope they didn’t they break is phone... what’s happening, where is he?_

Rushing in direction of the door were Lestrade disappeared few minutes ago, he’s interrupted by a smug Donovan.

“Looking for your little experiment, Holmes? He left, for his home or somewhere else, I don’t know. His injuries weren’t that bad.”

“What are you talking about, Donovan?” Sherlock swallows with difficulty, trying to think about what he said, what he’s done. The fear of John being alone, hurt, needing help. “He should have waited for clearance --”

“He was anxious to get away from you, Holmes, can’t say that I disagree with the sentiment.” With a last sardonic smile, the woman leaves Sherlock alone in the now empty warehouse as his phone vibrated in his hand.

> Do not contact me.
> 
> Ever.

With shaking fingers, Sherlock hits reply. 

> Let me explain, please. You have to let me talk to you! WG
> 
> WG, really?
> 
> Sorry, no more lies, no more I promise. SH
> 
> Talk to me, please John. SH
> 
> _The client you are trying to reach is no longer in service._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter left! 
> 
> See you on the other side of the 'drama' lol


	20. With a little help...

“Molly,” Sherlock is sitting near the pathologist, the number of empty coffee cups around him a testimony of his state of mind, “I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s been a week, let the man breathe a bit.” The young woman pushes away her notes, knowing that she won’t be able to work as long as her friend is like that.  _ Watson is a fool if he does not accept his apologies!  _ She sighs compassionately _.  _ “I presume he didn’t reply to your emails either?”

“No!” the detective places his hands on the cold surface of the lab metal countertop before pressing his head on the crook of his arms in despair.   _ Worse! He registered my address as spam! _

“Sherlock,” she shakes his shoulder slightly to get his attention. “SHERLOCK!”

Turning his head a bit the tall man laments, “whaaaaaaat?”

“It’s not over until you have spoken to him properly,” knowing her ‘public’ she elaborates quickly! “I don’t mean that you should harass him, or spy on him, or whatever of this sort!”

Sherlock straightens his back. “He won’t talk to me, won’t read my text or my emails. How I am supposed to have him LISTEN to me.”

“First thing first,” Molly sits beside him, a serious look on her face. “Are you sure?”

“Sure?” the detective repeats, frowning, not knowing what she is on about.

“Sure that...” waving her hands, she tries to make him understand without having to actually say the words.  _ Man!  _ Giving up, she exclaims, a bit impatiently, “that he’s the one for you.”

“Oh, oh... That.” Sherlock freezes a bit, his eyes doing that deer in the headlights thing he does when he’s overwhelmed before clearing his throat. “Of course I am. I... I love him.”

“I’m sorry to say that, you are an expert in many things, darling, but not in love.” Molly smiles, trying to lessen the blow, “how do you know this is love?”

Instantly, the young man face softens in a way that she has rarely seen. “It... it was instantaneous.  Even on paper – I had to read his file for the case – I was intrigued... attracted... eager to know more.” A dreamy smile appears on his lips as he remembers their first meeting, in John’s classroom. “He was brilliant to watch, dealing perfectly with the students, endearing in his passion for his work. Not teaching, perse, but medicine.” He chuckles, looking like a smitten teenager, “my first class with him, he talked about head trauma and forensics, what not to like!”

“So, he wasn’t an idiot...” Molly says, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to be friends or anything else with a simpleton.

“No, not him!” Sherlock sighs melancholically, “I was... I was an idiot, but not him...” After a pause, he continues, “but it’s not just his intelligence, you know, he’s warm, easy to talk to, good with people... The way he treated his students, knowing which one was in trouble, which one needed tutoring.” Closing his eyes, he breathes deeply, thinking about the time in the closet, the way he wanted to save him in the pub, their ‘date’ at Angelo’s. Everything was so quick, only a few weeks, but the doctor took all the room available in Sherlock’s heart. “I read his deposition he made to Lestrade... The way he did everything to avenge his friend... I don’t know what more to say ... he’s everything that I am not, so what’s not to like.” His beautiful head drops, defeated.

“Don’t say things like that, you are a wonderful person!” Molly suddenly hates all the bullies, past and present, that poisoned her friend’s life!

He simply shrugs his shoulders, knowing that the pathologist is probably one of the few who think so. “I’m simply honest, Molly.” His fingers nervously comb through his hair, now back to their usual dark tone. The day after John’s rejection, he quickly dyed his hair back to his natural colour and binned all the clothes ‘William’ wore out of spite.  “I am not an easy man...”

Pushing away the negative thoughts, she returns to the main subject. “Okay, if he’s the one, how could you find a way to explain yourself.” She knows what happened, the lies Sherlock said, his inconsiderate words in the warehouse.  _ It was only to shut up the criminals, but if Watson was listening... this is more than a bit not good. The poor man, if he’s as morally sound as it seems, must have been ripped to shred by the idea of falling in love with a student and crushed by the lies! _

“What can I do, Molly?”

“Find a way that he won’t have any other choice than to listen to what you have to say, to swallow your pride, be honest about everything, not let anything open to any doubt, and –”

“And?” Sherlock asks, with hope.

“Grovel, my friend, grovel.” Unable to stops herself, she let go of a peal of laughter.

“Not funny, Molly, not funny at all.” Feeling a bit better now that some sort of a plan was forming in his head, he gets up from the stool and grabs his coat, the familiar weight of the Belfast helping a bit with his mood. “Got to go,” he quickly kisses the young woman cheek, “I’m going for a coffee with some of the students I am... I was is more appropriate probably, I was friends with. They deserve explanations and a formal apology.”

Molly smiles as her friend left the lab, thinking about how the whole experience has already change Sherlock.  _ Yes, Doctor Watson going to be a nice influence, if they both remove their heads from their arses. _

 

 

A bit later, in a small café, Sherlock was surrounded by his usual little gang, uncustomarily feeling at ease beside his broken heart.  Everyone was talking at the same time, trying to help him.

“But, William,” Lucy laughs, and starts again, “sorry, but Sherlock, you need to find a way!”

Sherlock sniggers sadly,  _ it’s not like I haven’t tried everything! _ The support of the little gang is a delightful surprise. Once he explains everything, they simply jump on board on the ‘Finding a way to gently force Doctor Watson to listen to Sherlock aka William’ experiment. “I do not deserve all this amount of loyalty, I lied to you for weeks guys.”

“It’s okay, mate, you were doing your job. Catching criminals using science and everything is AWESOME.” Alan grabs Lucy’s hand over the table, “and now we need to help you to get your man!”

“I think I found the best place for your message!” Marcy, on board with the project now that she knows that Sherlock is way older than her (and 100% gay) grabs her computer and turns it towards her friends. "We've got one week until the end of the semester and..."

 

 

_ I can’t believe the semester is finally, finally over!   _ John is cleaning his desk in the teachers’ lounge, the little actual space available to the lecturer anyway, happy that the torture of the last weeks is going to be over soon.  _ One last batch of exams to mark then everything is over, Kings going to be behind me. _ He sighs as he places his pens in the communal holder.  _ Won’t be a lot of writing anymore, and certainly not by hand. Maybe I can start a blog of some sort with my free time?   _ He’s still lost in the menial tasks when a voice behind him made him jump.

“It’s true then, Doctor Watson, you’re leaving?”

“Alan, what a surprise!” Smiling at the brilliant young man, sadly now an associate to ‘William’ in his mind, John teases, “what are you doing here still, you should be drinking beers with your friends to celebrate the end of his semester!”

“I know, they are waiting for at the pub... it’s just that I wanted to check that,” the future doctor hesitates, not wanting to pry, “are you okay, Sir?”

“Yes, yes, I am,” the lies flew easily, “I have only a few days of work to do from home then it’s holidays for me as well!”

“I wasn’t talking about the class, you know that...”

_ Yes, of course, I know that!  _  The constant look of pity, the discussion with the dean, the too many times where he entered a room to find everyone suddenly silent. “I know, I know... don’t worry everything is fine.”

“But, you are really not planning to come back in September?” Alan asks, knowing that for a fact, before he starts to mumble quickly, “it’s the department secretary, she’s friends with the librarian, who’s friends with the lab technician, who’s the sister of one of my cousins.”

Unable to stop himself, John chuckles, “six degrees of separation, is it?” He pauses, looking at the student in front of him, knowing that his concerns were genuine.  “It’s not... it’s not... Mister Holmes that asked you to check on me?”

“No, no... he totally understands that you hate him for his deception,” Alan protests, laying it on thick. “So, nothing to worry about.”

The word ‘hate’ stricken a chord.  _ Do I hate him? _ “It’s complicated and shouldn’t be your concern.”  

“I came here to thank you for everything, Sir, and to wish you the best in your next endeavour, whatever you choose to do.”

Holding a hand out to the student while he grabs his bag with the other, John smiles benevolently. “I wish you a good summer and a bright future. I’m sure that you’re going to be a really good doctor.” After a nod, he turns and walks out of the room.

Phone in hand in record time, Alan calls Lucy, “Darling, he’s leaving. Showtime!”

 

 

John is waiting for the lift when a buzz starts to spread on the floor. Especially a girly’s buzz!  _ What’s going on? What’s about the cooing and giggling?  _ The lift is closing on him when someone shouts at him from the end of the corridor.  _ Did someone just shout, ‘Go get him, Doctor Watson’, what the Hell...  _ His phone suddenly starts to chime, mostly from unknown number text. Opening the app, he starts skimming the different messages.  _ What’s all that... 'Give the man a chance', 'It’s so romantic!', 'I cried a little, poor man', 'Get your hands on that booty Sir!', what is this?   _ He was resolutely turning a bright shade of pink when the doors open on the first floor. Rushing to the main exit, he finds himself constantly blocked by a hive of students.  _ What are they doing here! University is over!  _ He was about to gently push the crowd when his eyes fall on one of the big plasma screens in the lobby. 

Usually used to display professors and students’ researches, the enormous telly only shows one thing. A blog post from the site ‘Science of deduction’ written by that man, still unknown to him in so many ways, Sherlock Holmes.

Hypnotized, he walks slowly until he stops in front of the screen, the crowd magically letting him pass. John, suddenly deaf to everything around him, didn’t hear the theatrical sighs and cheers that resonate as soon as the young crowd saw him. Finally, near enough to be able to read, a surge of uncontrolled emotions assault John after the few first words. Unable to stand to be in the teaming hall, wanting to be alone, he rushes outside without giving the chance to anyone to stop him. 

 

 

A few hours later, after his steps brought him to the top of Hampstead Heath, John finally stops and turns to look at the beautiful expense of London in front of him.  Except for a few joggers, he was alone.  _ It’s really magnificent, the way that gigantic city is so human. How by feet you can reach such a diversity of sceneries, of life, of stories.  _ Forgetting for a moment his feelings about Sherlock’s duplicity, he remembers fondly the discussion they had about London when they were at the restaurant.   _ Never seen someone so passionate about a city, one could be jealous of the attention and love he’s giving to London! _ John smiles tenderly before his mouth drops.  _ I’m such an imbecile, how could I’ve have been that naive. To think that a brilliant man, more attractive, younger and brilliant than me could... could love me one day. What am I? An ex-military, without a real job, unable to be a surgeon anymore, average looking. _

His phone, deep in his pocket, is burning since he left the university.  The desire to read what the detective wrote is constantly silencing his doubt, his anger. Blocking his phone number, rerouting his emails, that was easy. It’s mechanical. 

You do it once when you are strong enough to do so, then it’s done.

The silence falls.  __

The mourning of what life could have been can begin earnestly.

But that. Something in the open, for everyone to see.  _ That’s low, I just hope that it won’t go outside of Kings. _ The idea that his few friends, his colleagues, his family may read that was horrifying!  _ He’s crazy, why did he do that! His own reputation, his private life for everyone to read! I can open it just to post a reply asking to put that down, for his own good! Yes, I can do that.  _

Without really thinking his hand fishes the phone and he swiftly searches for the blog. Once the page on the screen he tried to simply scroll down to the end but... but it was impossible. Walking slowly while keeping his eyes on the small device, he stops and drops on an old bench.

And starts reading.


	21. Never been kissed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's blog post

_The Science of Deduction, a blog by Sherlock Holmes, consultant detective_

_Today’s post_

_ Title: Never been kissed _

_Text:_

_Dear readers, today something different._

_Something important._

_More important than an umpteenth type of cigarettes ashes._

_More important than the way to confirm the professional occupation of a victim using the distance between a thumb and an index finger._

_More important than catching the perfect criminal._

_More important than a locked-room triple homicide._

_I’m writing today to say that I hurt someone. People who know me are probably laughing right now, thinking that hurting people is kind of my specialty. They are wrong, of course. I am not  hurting people, I’m stating facts that hurt them. This is completely different. But this is not what this is about._

_So, where were we? Yes. I hurt someone. No, not only someone, but the most perfect man that I’ve ever known and will ever know. A gentle, strong, intelligent, beautiful, courageous man._

_Not perfect maybe, but perfect for me._

_I hurt that person because I wasn’t honest.  I lied about everything. About who I am, about my academic history, about what I was doing at Kings, about my appearance, about my age._

_Lying is not new. I often tell lies in my line of work, but to suspects, criminals or murderers. People that matter for a case. This time I lied to someone who matters to me, and I hated each and every minute of it._

_So, no more lies._

_My name is William Sherlock Scott Holmes. I am a consultant detective for the Met or to my clients in my private practice. When I arrived at Kings, it was with the mission of finding the leader of a drug operation emanating from within the university. I was enrolled mid-term in Chemistry and Biology classes with the help of the administration._

_I’m 28 years old. I’ve studied Chemistry in Oxford where I graduated with mention 8 years ago. My hair is now back to my natural black curls and my eyes to the strange colours they usually are, whatever that is. I really have an older brother, still sorry about that, and my parents are both alive and well. My mother is a brilliant mathematician and my father used to be a public servant of some sort. I like to play violin when I’m thinking._

_I have never been in love and I have never been kissed by someone who cares for me or for whom I care._

_It’s unusual and probably why I am considered a freak by many but until recently it wasn’t something I was thinking about. It was nothing of importance, nothing useful. I missed the opportunity when it was the time, most of the UK citizens received their first kiss at the age of 15, and consider it nothing to fuss about. It wasn’t that I was against the idea when I was younger, it just that it wasn’t for me. And later... later I decided that I was better without that kind of complication._

_It’s silly how time flies. I always preferred to be alone when I was a kid, the others were only teasing me relentlessly anyway. I was anxious to start secondary school, but it was exactly the same... Even worse probably. My reaction was to simply cut myself from my classmates which exacerbated the whole situation._

_At university I was finally at my place! So I thought... I threw myself in my studies and extra-curricular projects. I found my calling:  Chemistry. The comfort that when you repeat a formula, the result is going to be the same over and over was blissfully peaceful. My mind, which constantly rebels when inactive, was at ease for the first time in years. I worked alone in the lab or the library most of the time and I was okay with it._

_I discovered my passion, everything was going to be fine._

_As months and years passed, my reputation was growing, and people started to talk to me, to ask questions about my work. It was... new. Curiously welcomed. I started to gravitate around a group of students from different faculties but with similar focus on their studies. It was finally happening._

_Friends._

_I met the first one when he protected me from bullies. He stopped them and ask me if I was all right. He saw the real me and wasn’t disgusted, so I think at the time. He knew me from my reputation and he asked if I wanted to be a part of their study group. They needed someone with a more scientific background and some of them offered me help in mandatory classes where I was less successful._

_It was perfect for a moment. I was belonging to a group, at last._

_Suddenly, without knowing how, I realized that I was in love with one of them. A magnificent English literature student. To say it was quite a shock for me is an understatement. For the first time, my heart was beating quicker for someone. I already knew that women weren’t my area, but I thought that love altogether wasn’t for me. That I wasn’t built that way. He quickly recognized the extend of my feelings, I realized later with shame how painfully obvious I was, and he started to send me messages. Waxing poetry about my eyes, my voice... I succumbed quickly, pushing my fear away as I was totally unable to resist him, and said yes when he asked me to the Commemoration Ball._

_It appeared that it was only a joke, a bet with the others. He was finding me ‘good’ enough to have sex with me but the idea of going out with a freak like me was laughable and he was planning on spreading news about how he conquered the Ice Virgin. I discovered their plan before the ball and simply flew away, ashamed of my naiveté. The idea that I was unlovable returned in full force.  I won’t elaborate but let say that I’m not proud of what happened in the months that followed._

_Let’s just say that when I came back to university the next September my heart was tightly in check. My ‘friends’ turned everyone against me, so I became even more asocial. My mind clearly fixed on the idea that love and similar emotions were a waste of time. I nearly doubled the number of classes that I could take and ended my masters in a record time.  Refusing to go further to the great dismay of my professor._

_That story is humiliating, but I wouldn’t be who I am without it so it’s important._

_When that case presented itself where I could go back to university, I was eager for a do-over. Anxious to see if I changed in the last years, if my memories of the academic world were right.  A human experiment of some sort, with me as guinea pig._

_I discovered a lot. That things never change, some professors are idiot, others are brilliant.  The students have a way to cluster in neat little gangs, knowing instinctively their people. But we, as individuals, are in a constant state of perpetual reinvention. To my sincere amazement, I’ve made some great friends that, despite the age difference that we have, I hope will remain in my life. I was able to stand up to a bully, it shakes me in a way that the most hardened criminals can’t, but I was able to stand my ground._

_I regret most of my first time at university, but for this second time around, I have only one regret: I caused pain to the most beautiful human being that I know._

_You know who you are._

_If by an incredible turn of faith in my favor, you are reading this, know that I don’t expect a complete forgiveness, far from that. This post is merely the first step to my apology._

_I just want to add one more thing._

_I think I am in love with you._

_If you used to be in a similar disposition and are not currently totally disgusted by me, I will wait for you tonight at 19:30 at that place where we ate that wonderful evening._

_First kiss. Come on, are you up to it?_

 

_Sherlock Holmes_

_p.s. May be dangerous._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want an epilogue with what is happening after?
> 
> Update:  
> I changed the number of chapter to 22 for the epilogue! I have no choice now lol 
> 
> Love, Morgane


	22. Epilogue (aka Fortune cookies)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not only I wrote an epilogue, lucky readers!, but it's the longest chapter of the whole fic lol

“Boss?” Donovan storms in Lestrade, her phone in hand. “Have you seen this?”

“Hmmm,” painfully writing a report, Greg never turns his head. _I can’t believe I still have to complete forms by hand!_ He was trying to fit a 26 letter name in 20 little boxes when Sally drops her phone on the paper. “What do you –” the DI’s eyes widen as he starts reading Sherlock’s blog, _Didn’t think he had it in him!_ “How did you find that?”

Her cheeks turn slightly pink, she admits having an alert on Sherlock’s blog. “To know if he talks about... unauthorized things, you know.”

Her boss isn’t really listening to her reply, his eyes still glued on the small screen. _Poor man, that’s horrible... what an asshole that man has been when he was in uni! And all that bullying... and that I didn’t really do anything serious about the way Donovan and Anderson kept calling him freak. That stops right now! Wonder if his brother has read this?_ He is about to call Mycroft when his phone pings.

> I am, of course, aware of my brother unusual display of sentimentality, Gregory. MH

_The git, of course he knows!_ Quickly, he texts back before asking Donovan to leave and close the door. _Don’t want her to imagine things, I’m doing this already really well on my own..._! He sighs, thinking about the beautiful imposing man, that sometimes being friends is not enough.

> What do you think of it? GL
> 
> I think that if he really wants to have the trouble of having a partner, he could have chosen worse. MH
> 
> True, and I’m still rooting for him as your in-law lol Are you keeping an eye on him? In case, you know, it turns sour. GL
> 
> A few of my employees, unknown to Sherlock, got a reservation for tonight. MH
> 
> Good man! With a live feed? GL
> 
> Of course, I am not an amateur. MH
> 
> Anthea is out to get low-fat microwavable popcorn. MH
> 
> Whatever it is. MH
> 
> And Watson? Do you have an eye on him? GL
> 
> No, not really. I won’t intervene. MH
> 
> Yah right. GL
> 
> Good day, Gregory, I will keep you informed of the outcome. MH

Laughing heartily while looking at his phone, Greg thought about Mycroft eating popcorn in his beautiful suit. _Maybe I could ask if I can... But no, it’s private. Sherlock does not need more eyes on him. Even if he’s unaware of it!_  Turning back to his paperwork, the DI never realized that the level of excitation was rising on the floor until people start shouting. _What is that again!_ Rising from behind his desk he opens the door.

“WHAT’S HAPPENING NOW! I’ve got work to –”

“It’s Watson, boss, we found him!” One of the rookie answers, blushing.

“What are you talking about...” looking around, Greg realizes that nobody on his team – even Anderson! -  is working. They are looking at the different CCTV monitors spread around the room. Most of the screens focussing on one man. Examining the image, Greg frowns, “is this... Doctor Watson? No... Really? You don’t have anything better to do?”

“It’s only that we think that he didn’t read –”, one detective explains before a colleague interrupts him.

“He didn’t read Holmes’ blog and it looks like he is presently walking as far away as possible from Angelo’s.” A dozen of sad exclamations and not so nice adjectives for the poor doctor resonate in the room.

“How the Hell do you know if –”

“Twitter!” Donovan sputters, “it was on Twitter. He read the first line on a public screen at Kings than walked away. He’s been walking since then without taking his phone out.”

Lestrade, curious and a bit nervous for Sherlock, grabs a chair to sit in front of the screens. “Do we have any idea where is going?”

“Hampstead Heath, I think.” Anderson replies, sniggering, “the man isn’t as stupid finally, good call to run away from --”

“PHILIP!” Sally shouts before Greg had the time to say something, she is definitely feeling guilty for what she said to Watson, “that’s enough!”

Taking a doughnut from the snacks table, he shrugs his shoulder, “Sure, it’s a sad story, but he is still a freak,” before leaving to get back to his lab.

The disagreeable man is quickly forgotten when someone yells, “oh my God, he’s at the entrance of the park!”

Greg quickly turns to look at the clock, it was 17:55. _Come on, what are you doing man!_

 

At 18.30, Mycroft, without (openly) looking that interested in the outcome of the whole affair, walks by the CCTV room. “Any news?”

“Our people are in place, two men on this table and a couple at this one,” Anthea says, showing the setup on the telly. The images of the interior of the restaurant were clear as crystal, displaying both tables as well as the table reserved for Sherlock. “And Doctor Watson is walking around upon the hill, waiting for the moment to go back to the centre.” _I hope!_

“Perfect. It’s still early, Anthea, we have work to do.” Eying the big bowl of popcorn, Mycroft frowns in disgust thinking about the amount of chemical involved in the creation of fat-free-butter-flavouring, “you shouldn’t eat that crap, dear.” With a handful of kernels, the young woman was ready to follow her boss when he objects, “if you think you’re going to eat popcorn in my office, dear, you are delusional!”

Childishly, she engulfs everything before muttering with her mouth full. “Ready, Sir!”

Rolling his eyes, Mycroft chuckles before pulling out a file from his cabinet.

 

_30 minutes later..._

“Okay, times up, you are not able to work efficiently anyway!”

Jumping from her chair, Anthea smiles and rushes out of the office. Mycroft shakes his head, _women, they are all too romantic for the own good, even the best ones!_ He is about to check his emails when she frantically enters the room.

“Sir! The idiot is still in Hampstead!” _I knew we should have done something!_

“What!” _I knew I should have done something!_ Rising quickly from his chair, Mycroft steps from behind his desk and walks rapidly (not running, it’s undignified) to the media room. And here he was, still in the middle of nowhere, looking at his surrounding and looking a bit lost.

Screening rapidly the operation on John’s phone, Anthea realizes that he never read Sherlock’s message! “I can’t believe it! What wrong with men?”

_It looks like I should have talked to the man myself! What is his problem! Sherlock opens his heart for everyone to see and –_

His thoughts were interrupted by a hysteric Anthea (Mycroft’s opinion, not mine) “Mister Holmes! He’s taking is bloody phone out of his pocket!” Grabbing her boss harm, she laughs as The Science of Deduction appears on her surveillance screen “He’s reading the bloody blog! Finally! God, men are useless sometimes!”

“Anthea...” Mycroft chides.

“Except you, Sir, and your brother, and that dear Inspector Lestrade.”

“You’re impossible!” Holmes chuckles, unable to be angry when the young woman was so hopeful for his brother, “oh, dear, look! He’s going back down the hill, he’s running towards London.”

“He will never be there in time!”

_And if he’s not there at 19:30 Sherlock going to close a door that he won’t open again..._ “Call all of our cabs needed to cover the different exits at the South of the park. They must stay there, ready to go!”

“Yes, Sir!” Using her phone she quickly sent a message to the cab company that works with them to get there as quickly as possible. “It’s done, and now?”

With a last glance at his phone, he smiles, “grab your popcorn dear, we’re going to Scotland Yard! Inspector Lestrade is having a viewing party!”

 

John is running down the hill like a madman, his mind screaming silently at his own stubbornness! _Why did I wait so long! I am an imbecile!_ It was exhilarating to finally know what he wants! _I was a soldier, I am able to do that! No doubt! No fear! Anyway, I lied also... who am I to judge!_ His leg completely forgotten as he flies in direction of the man he loves. The man he wants to be loved by. He knows deep down inside that the man’s lies hurt only his pride. That he resented him for the sleepless nights when he was feeling guilty about lusting after one of his students... _His actions weren’t against me, we were both lying for the same great cause! If his feelings are real, he must have suffered as badly as me!_

Rushing thru the path, he nearly runs over a woman and her dog “Sorry!!!!” He laughs when she screams back calling him a nutter. _I’ve got the best reason to be crazy: love!_ He is finally at a gate when, luck is on his side, a cab turns onto Nassington Road. Not questioning how it is possible that odds were so much in his favour in that deserted area, he jumps in the cab. “Soho, as quickly as possible!” Looking at the hour on the car dashboard, he closes his eyes, trying to summon the last breath of air in his lungs.

_I’ve got 10 minutes._

 

“Come on, man!” Greg is looking at the CCTV near Angelo, the wide angle allowing a good view of the street. Luckily, as it was a Wednesday, the area wasn’t as full of people as during a weekend. But Doctor Watson was nowhere in sight so far! He saw Sherlock walk inside the restaurant a few minutes ago, apparently nervous but with a resolute expression. “Where are you Watson! You have only a few minutes left!”

An amused voice coming from the door makes them jump in surprise, “ETA, 7 minutes if the traffic lights are on his side.” _Or if the good cabbie doesn’t bother with them._

“But of course, the traffic lights are going to be cooperative, Sir,” Anthea replies to her boss, a small smile on her otherwise straight face.

“What?” Greg looks at Mycroft, his mouth remaining slightly opens in amazement. “And you know that...”

“He’s in a cab right now, on his way to the restaurant.”

“We lost his trace at some point in the park... He’s on his way? For real?” Donovan asks, hopeful.

“Yes, sergeant, and in a surprisingly positive disposition if I recall what you said to him in that warehouse,” Holmes replies coldly.

“Sir, I... I am... sorry.” Sally stutters, not wanting to become an enemy to the powerful man and sincerely wishing her best to Sherlock. “It was inconsiderate, I will ask both for their forgiveness.”

Molly, suddenly jumping on her chair, screams happily. “He’s there! He’s there! YESSSS!”

And here he was, jumping out of a cab and running to the restaurant to charge into Sherlock who is exiting the place decisively!

A chorus of awwwwwwws and ohhhhhhhhhs explode in the room to Mycroft’s discomfort. _Maybe coming here wasn’t that good an idea._ Turning to Gregory, to excuse himself before leaving, he finds that the detective is looking at him with a bright smile, full of not so subtle emotions. _Okay, maybe it’s not that bad._

 

John, nearly out of breath again at the sudden appearance of the beautiful man, stutters “William... shit... erm... Sherlock.” _He was leaving? I’m only 3 minutes late!_

“Doctor Watson, you are here.” The detective remains stuck in place, not knowing what to do. Looking away at something further in the street he murmurs without really paying attention “you are late –”

_He’s so beautiful, his dark curls are like a halo in the door’s light._ “Yes, so sorry, **3 minutes** , it took forever to –” 

“Are you... are you...” Sherlock stutters and definitively blushing, wanting to know if John was in the same disposition of him without being able to ask frankly.

A big smile on his boyish face, John murmurs while conveying all the love possible in his eyes, “yes, I –“

He is unable to finish as the young man grabs his hand with a big grin and shouts, “run!”

 

Less than ten minutes later - after a mad course in lanes, jumping over gates and other madness - they were both laughing like madmen in the middle of the street.

Unable to stop giggling, John repeats Sherlock’s words to the American tourist that was in the cab they pursued, shaking his head at the pure insanity of their actions “Welcome to London!”

“I didn’t know what to say!” The detective chuckles, so happy that John was there with him. _For a case! This is wonderful! What a wonderful first date!_

“And what was all that about?” John asks, wanting to know why they had rushed after the cab.

“A hunch that I had for a case... You know, the serial suicides.” As the doctor nods, of course, he knew about the ‘suicides’ as it has been in the papers for days, Sherlock explains his theory so far, the pink phone, and everything.

“That’s brilliant!”

“Really? You don’t think that... that I am  a fr-, weird.” Sherlock mutters as he fidgets with the buttons of his coat, suddenly shy. “That, that letter I wrote to you... it’s a lot, I know, and –”

“You are not weird. You are not a freak. You are a wonderful man with a few quirks to keep life interesting.” The tall man’s eyes, sparkling from the vigorous exercise and sentiments, were hypnotic. Constantly changing colour. John, unable to control himself, gently brushes his eyelids and murmurs. “Can’t believe you hid those under contacts...”

“I’m so sorry John... so so sorry.” Motioning to the street around them, he apologizes, “it wasn’t supposed to be like that… we were supposed to be in the restaurant, I didn’t plan anything!” He pauses as pink appears on his cheeks, “of course I gave that address not far from Angelo’s to the killer, so I knew that it was an option –”

John stops him, giggling again at the beautiful, clueless man, “catching a killer was your way out if I wasn’t there or if it was too awkward? Asking a friend to call you wasn’t enough?”

A bit annoyed, the detective protests, “there’s nothing wrong about having a plan B and –”

Placing his hands around the glorious man neck he raises his head to be able to reach Sherlock’s perfectly plump lips and effectively stop his rambling by a small peck. “It’s okay love, I understand...” _The passion, the energy, the spirit, all this was what attracted me to William. Sherlock is the same, exactly the same man._ “I am such an idiot.”

Placing his forefront on John’s head, the detective murmurs, “no you are a brilliant, passionate man, courageous, you are magnificent.”

“I thought I lost you,” the doctor murmurs, his face now in the crook of Sherlock’s neck. “You are the same, you are the man I fell in love with.”

“So sorry, again, and again,” the detective says while he soothingly strokes the older man’s back, “it was a real torture to try to stay away from you. I knew it wasn’t right on so many levels, but I wasn’t... It wasn’t a game, you’ve got to believe me. I wasn’t able to stay away.”

“We don’t have to now...”

“And never again,” Sherlock drops his mouth on John’s, rejoicing at the thought that they had a second chance. Everything was better now! The lights of the street were brighter, the case was more exciting, the air was different. The fear of being rejected again disappearing in John’s warmth. Opening his lips, he accepts his lover’s deep kiss joyfully. The intimate exploration driving him mad as he was unable to silence the humming that was coming from his throat, from his heart. _I’m turning in a silly romantic fool and that’s okay._ The idea that they were in the middle of a street (thankfully car-free) and the thought that people and CCTV were all around weren’t enough to stop them.

After many delightful minutes, partygoers catcalling them sadly broke the charm. Smiling like teenagers, they both walk away quickly, holding hands.

A bit smug, John winks at Sherlock. “I think that’s one case solved.”

“Which case?” his future boyfriend asks, nonplussed.

“The case of the ‘Never been kissed detective’ of course! Maybe you should write an epilogue to your post, so people know that the place is taken...”

“And quite expertly, if I may say” he laughs “Case closed but still available for experiments!”

“As long as I am your sole subject, it’s all fine with me! I’m signing up for a lifelong study!” John, remembering the fake suicides and the cab driver asks suddenly, “and who’s the killer, do you have any idea?

“No, I’ve got no idea at all...” Sherlock replies dismissively, surprised by the fact that it wasn’t currently the first thing in his mind. Turning towards John, he grins. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving! Back to Angelo’s?”

“No, it reeks of my dear brother’s men. I know a nice Chinese place a little further away... You know I can guess the fortunes in the cookies.”

Chuckling again, John shakes his head theatrically. “No, you can’t!”

Sliding next to John and changing his longer stride to match John’s shorter one, he murmurs in his ear, “they are going to say, ‘You are going to meet the love of your life today’.”  

  
  
At Scotland Yard, everyone cheers at the kiss, not so secretly hoping that Sherlock's acerbic attitude going to be mellower (one can hope!).

"Too bad  we weren't able to hear what they said," one secretary sighs, "it looked really romantic!"

A little smile on their lips, Anthea and Mycroft exchange a glance as they both read the transcript of the discussion on their respective phones.

"Hum, you read that, dear?" Mycroft smirks at his brother's last words.

"Yes, sir. I'm on it!" The perfect PA replies, sending a message to the restaurant about the fortunes. _How hard could it be to change the message in a fortune cookie?_

Fortunately, pretty easy!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are like a little gift from the Internet Gods! Let me know if you have any thought so far :-)


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